


The Taming of the Dragon

by xdarksistahx



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arthur Dayne/Elia Martell - Freeform, Blood Magic, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Falling In Love, Hedonism, Magic, Multi, Orgies, Prophecy, Rhaegar is a Dragon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24796168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdarksistahx/pseuds/xdarksistahx
Summary: Lyanna Stark is chosen by her village as a sacrifice to appease the dreaded beast that plagues their lands. There have been maidens before her, all lost. Does Lyanna have what it takes to keep the beast at bay, is she the one the creature seeks? Only time will tell.
Relationships: Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen
Comments: 16
Kudos: 89





	1. Sacrificial

**Author's Note:**

> moodboard by iamsmall

They come for Lyanna in the dead of night. 

By all rights, she should’ve known they would for the entire day was filled with bad omens. A pack of wolves howling mournfully at daybreak, a shattered looking glass in her bed chamber, and the mess of spilled goat’s milk she made during supper. 

Foolishly, she turned a blind eye to the warnings and carried out her day as she always had.

She begrudgingly tended to her needlework, attended her teachings, and snuck off to the woods to spar with the butcher’s boy. She supposes it’s a good thing they came for her before her father discovered that she often wore the clothes she’d borrowed— stolen—from her second eldest brother so that she could masquerade as a boy whenever she snuck away to the woods. 

At least some good will come from this. Regretfully, it is the only good. 

Her cries and screams for her father fall on deaf ears as she’s dragged through the village in nothing but a thin white gown that is meant for sleeping and nothing more. Her bare feet are black with mud by the time they reach the cliffs where the great boulder sits. 

Only six moons ago, another maiden was chosen as a sacrifice to the beast that has been plaguing their lands. They believed the creature was done with them after that. They feasted and sang praises to the Old and New Gods while the parents of the offered maiden hung themselves out of grief. A tragic yet inevitable outcome, they were all told by the leader of their village, the High Maester. 

The High Maester assured them the beast would trouble them no more. But then the beast returned, demanding a new sacrifice. If they deny it what it seeks, fire and blood shall fall upon them. 

What’s a maiden or two to that of the entire village? 

“Lyanna of House Stark,” the High Maester shouts over the whipping wind and mutters from the crowd, “you have been chosen to serve the will of the gods!” 

If her throat wasn’t raw from all her useless screaming, she would’ve cursed the man. The Others take him, she bitterly thought. The Others take them all. Even her father who stands in the crowd, expression solemn. 

Will he shed no tears for her?

No, not Rickard Stark. Any tears he may shed for her will be done in private. Her brothers are nowhere in sight, and she wonders if her father made them stay away. Some last-minute hunting trip? Perhaps he sent them into town to get things he doesn't need. Surely, Brandon, Ned, and Benjen would fight for her if they were here, and her father knows that. They wouldn’t allow her to be taken by a monster. 

The great boulder stands near the edge of the cliff, overlooking the jagged rocks that peek up from the sea like grasping fingers. As they’re binding her hands, she considers jumping over so that she may have free will one last time. What more can they take from her in death? 

Lyanna doesn’t have it in her. 

She is bound to the rock, bound to her fate. Her thumb is captured by the High Maester and he slices it with a bone blade.

When her blood falls into the fire pit, the flames turn blue and uncontained, reaching out into the sky like a beacon, before simmering down and fading back to reddish-orange. Fumes from the flames waft to Lyanna’s nostrils, and she unwillingly breathes it in. 

The High Maester doesn’t mask his pleasure, his beady eyes glittering with delight. “We have chosen right this time,” he says, facing the dumbstruck villagers with his arms outstretched. “The Prince of Fire seeks a bride born of Ice. This,” he says, gesturing at Lyanna, “is his true bride!" 

True bride? What does that mean? 

Eyes growing heavy, the High Maester’s words become distorted, the faces in the crowd blurry and distant. As her eyes fall shut, she can hear the sound of wings flapping and a bone-chilling screech in the distance. 

It has come for her. 

* * *

Sometime later, Lyanna awakes to the sound of seagulls and waves pushing and pulling against the shore. Bewildered, she slowly lifts her head, taking in her surroundings. The sand beneath her is cool, black, and look like tiny, onyx crystals against her pale skin. 

It’s early dawn by the look of it.

The clouds in the sky are sparse, and the sun is rising from the sea, casting the world in tinges of pink, orange, and dusky yellow. As far as the eye can see there is nothing but water ahead of her. Yet to her back stands a grand castle so massive and majestic that the sight of it takes the breath out of her. 

According to the bards, the beast lives in a cave where it protects hordes of gold and other treasures, not a castle. There are stories, as well, that speak of what those monsters do to the virgins they steal away. Lyanna doesn't want to find out if that's true or just another tall tale. 

With effort, she gathers herself and manages to get up. Staggering, she winces painfully. The soreness of her body makes itself known at that moment. She doubles over, clutching herself, her breaths ragged and strained. 

It’s as if the beast dropped her out of the sky.

Not intentionally, though. Because why would it do that when she is meant to be its prize? Perhaps that explains why she stands before a palace and not a cave. Perhaps the beast dropped her but intends to return for her soon. And she won’t be here waiting for it like some silly goose. 

Lyanna ignores the ache in her bones and the unsettledness of her stomach. She runs toward the palace in hopes of finding safety. Yet no matter how hard she runs, it’s as if she hasn’t moved at all. Either the palace is further away than it appears or the sand isn’t allowing her to get far. The very atmosphere is odd. Despite her proximity to the sea, she doesn't feel a breeze yet she can see the waves still rolling, and she can hear them crash. 

What is pushing the waves if not the wind? 

In the distance, she hears hooves in the sand and loud neighing. Heading straight for her is a tall rider on a black mare. The rider is in full armor; black, polished steel with a red sigil she can’t make out sitting proudly in the center. 

He’s a knight, then. Meaning he’s to be trusted. That’s what the minstrel’s songs say, that’s what the tales have taught her. 

“Please, Ser,” Lyanna squeaks, her voice nearly gone. “You must save me!” 

The knight is silent as his horse gallops to a sudden stop. He only smiles at her before offering his hand. A shiver travels through her but Lyanna blames it on her poorly clad body and the insecurity that comes with being exposed to this stranger. But she decides that's hardly important right now when the beast can return for her at any moment. She reaches for the knight, and he quickly draws his hand back.

Assuming he’s the teasing sort, she opens her mouth, a foul word at the ready. Suddenly, a white powder is blown in her face, taking the fight out of her. 

Once again she’s rendered unconscious and left at the mercy of a vile creature. 

* * *

When Lyanna awakes again, she finds herself on a chaise lounge chair inside a bedroom bigger than her family’s abode. 

From wall to floor, the space is adorned in riches. Paintings and tapestries are hung and scattered rugs nearly cover every inch of the floor. At the foot of a huge bed sits a painted chest with gold trimmings. Across the room, there is a vanity, a wardrobe, and two more large chests. 

Similar to the palace, the room fills Lyanna with awe and wonder. She has to bite back the urge to explore every corner of this space and discover what the chests hold. The room, though grand, is of no importance to her at the moment. 

Lyanna doesn’t know where she is. She only knows an imposter of a knight tricked her and brought her here. How can she be certain that there are no more tricks waiting for her? She would rather not wait around to find out. 

Hurriedly, she gets off the chaise.

Notably, the soreness in her body from earlier is no more. In fact, she can’t think of the last time she felt this well-rested. Perhaps the knight’s powder is to thank. She doubts it, but only because she doesn’t want to have reason to be grateful to the man. The powder did make her sleep, but for how long? The windows are covered by thick curtains so she can't tell if it's day or night, and even if she could she wouldn't know how many days have passed since she woke up on the shore. 

The sound of the heavy oak doors opening startle her. She looks for a place to hide. She isn’t fortunate in that regard. As big as the room is, there aren’t that many places to hide. 

An older, plain-faced woman with copper hair and a hooked nose enters with folded cloth in her arms. “The Master wishes for you to accompany him for dinner,” the woman says in a tight voice. “I have drawn a bath for you. I see that it is required.” 

Lyanna opens her mouth, closes it, and opens it again. She will overlook the woman’s slight. For now. “Who might you be?” she asks. 

Disregarding Lyanna’s question, the woman sits the cloth on the bed and kneels in front of the chest, opening it. “You will not be late,” she says. “The Master does not care for tardiness.” 

The woman’s tone and air of importance remind Lyanna of Septa Mordane, the community tutor back in her village. Although she is fond of her septa, she is not fond of this woman and they don't know one another at all. 

“Who is this Master you speak of?” And why should she care about what they like or dislike? “I would like to know who is hosting me as their guest.” 

The woman removes a pretty, dark red dress from the chest. Lyanna peeks inside and sees wads of silk and other dresses neatly folded inside. Something shiny in the chest catches her eye when the light touches it. When the chest closes with a loud thump, she jumps. 

“The Master is the master of this castle,” the woman answers vaguely. 

“A king then?” 

“We have no king.” She hangs the dress on the wardrobe. Then turns to Lyanna, examining her with a critical eye. “You are more comely than the other one.” A short pause. “I suppose.” 

Lyanna's frown deepens. “The other one?” 

“Perhaps not as bright,” she replies. “Quickly now. We haven’t a moment to spare.” 

Will none of her questions be heard or answered? If this becomes a constant here, Lyanna would rather face the beast. Being treated like a doe-eyed dimwit infuriates her more than anything. But she must remind herself that she is a guest here, that without their hospitality she’d be left to the creature’s mercy.

A mercy she doubts exist. 

The woman takes her by the arm and all but drags her out of the door into a smaller yet equally lavish room. As the woman is pulling her away, Lyanna sees a tall, harp leaning against one of the walls. Of all the things in the room, that’s the item that draws her attention. From that room, they enter a washroom.

There are red rose petals floating in the steaming water, the fragrant scent enchanting, calming. 

Lyanna remembers the fumes from the flames the High Maester gave her blood to. The memory of it makes her shiver in fright. 

“A hot bath will beat the cold back,” the woman says, already making quick work of freeing Lyanna of her filthy and torn gown. 

“I can undress and bathe myself,” Lyanna says stubbornly, jerking away from the woman. She hugs herself warily. “Which kingdom am I in? No king resides here, you say, but a king must rule these lands.” 

For there are seven kingdoms, each ruled by a different king. Collectively the kingdoms are referred to as Westeros. 

“If you insist on bathing yourself, be certain to do it properly,” she says, disregarding Lyanna’s question entirely. Yet again. “I will return for you. Do not wander off.” 

The woman adds a dash of oil to the water then she flitters out of the room before Lyanna can pester her with any more questions. When the door is shut, Lyanna continues staring at the wooden, carved door, her mouth slightly ajar. She’s only been here for—actually, she doesn’t know how long she’s been here—and she already dislikes this woman. 

Perhaps dislike is too strong of a word. Lyanna isn’t usually this quick to pass judgment on someone but so far what she’s been given from the woman is highly unlikable. 

She turns around and looks at the tub. Well, she is filthy and cold. A hot bath does sound very tempting. The longer she stares at the water and breathes in the oil and flowers the more she wants to get in. 

Sinking into the hot water, every bit of her, even her bones, sigh in relief. Lyanna doesn’t wash herself immediately. She just sits there, with her chin resting on her bent knees, slowly inhaling and exhaling. A tear rolls down her cheek. She watches it fall into the water and create tiny ripples. 

That’s the only mourning she will allow herself for now. 

After her bath, the woman dresses her in the red dress complete with a girdle that squeezes the life out of Lyanna and pushes the little bit of breasts she has up to her bloody chin. Unlike the gowns she is accustomed to, this gown is more revealing. It has a deep cut, giving her cleavage, the fabric at the sleeves can be seen through, and far too much of her back is on display. Despite her discomfort, Lyanna says nothing. If this is how the ladies dress here, she will do the same. 

It doesn’t mean she isn’t going to complain about it to herself every chance she gets. 

“Now what to do with your hair,” the woman mutters to herself. 

It’s a question Lyanna is often faced with herself. Her father refers to her hair as wild like her, and she doesn’t blame him. Her hair isn’t like spun silk or whatever the minstrels say in their songs. Her hair stops short of her waist, it does not lie flat but bends and curls whichever way it likes. Everyone who knew her mother would tell her that she got her hair from the woman. 

Whenever Lyanna considers hacking it all off, she thinks of her mother. 

Somehow the woman manages to pull the majority of her hair up, leaving only a few curls to frame her face. Jeweled combs are added here and there. A red ribbon to match her dress is tied around her neck. Lastly, the woman has her press a rose petal between her lips to stain them. 

“Now you are ready to meet the Master,” the woman says, proud of her work. 

And she should be because she accomplished the impossible. Lyanna thanks the woman for everything. The woman seems surprised by her gratitude, and for once she’s rendered speechless. It's as if she isn't accustomed to hearing praise or words of gratitude. It makes Lyanna wonder what this Master is like. 

Walking through the halls of the palace, Lyanna is constantly looking from left to right, even above. Like the rooms she’s seen so far, the halls are adorned in splendor. There are large, arched doorways, mounted swords and daggers, and even paintings of what appears to be the Master’s family. 

Most of the people look the same. Moonlight hair, violet eyes, pale, and beautiful. There is a handful with black hair, brown eyes, dusky skin, and they’re just as beautiful. One portrait has her halting her steps. It is of a young boy with long silver hair and sad indigo eyes. He’s sitting next to the harp she just saw in that one room. 

“Come along,” the woman says. “You’ve kept them waiting long enough.” 

“Them?” 

Seated at the table in the grand banquet hall are two children.

There is a boy who appears to be no older than three and ten, with his long silver hair tied with a red ribbon. As for the girl, she is a small thing, with silver curls and bright purple eyes. She’s wearing a pink, age-appropriate gown. She appears to be no older than seven. 

When they see Lyanna enter, they quit whatever game they were playing with their hands and stare at her openly. 

“Lord Viserys,” the woman introduces, “and Lady Daenerys. This is…” 

“Lyanna,” she pipes up nervously. She doesn’t know why the children make her nervous. But they do. Especially the boy; he has the eyes of someone much older. “You have my thanks.” 

Viserys smirks, and it reminds Lyanna of the foxes that roam their lands. “Don’t thank us yet," he says elegantly. "Please, do sit down.” He gestures to the chair directly across from him. “You may leave us, Gaia.” 

The Master is a child, then? It isn’t unheard of, just unexpected.

The woman, Gaia, bows and departs without another word. Lyanna sits down and has a hell of a time doing so due to the dress’s constraints. She hopes she doesn’t look as idiotic as she feels. From the amused glint in the boy’s eyes she can tell that she does, in fact, look idiotic. 

“Pretty dress!” the girl, Daenerys, says loudly, pointing at Lyanna. 

Lyanna smiles. The girl is the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. “Thank you, Lady Daenerys. Your dress is very pretty as well.” 

Daenerys’s face lights up. She looks over at who Lyanna assumes is her brother. “I like her, Viserys!” 

“Please, Dany,” he says under his breath, “we don’t even know how long she’ll last.” 

Some of the light leaves Daenerys’s face. She lowers her head sadly. The boy's comment is startling but on instinct, her main concern is making sure Daenerys smiles again. Lyanna leans forward, prepared to brighten the girl’s mood but then a door is opened. Immediately, Viserys and Daenerys stand from their seats. Lyanna does the same even though she isn’t sure what’s going on. 

The first person to enter is a tall, broad-shouldered man with olive skin, sharp, purple eyes, and a comely face. When he sees her, he smiles, and she is reminded of the knight on the beach. 

This is that very knight.

Lyanna balls her fists and frowns at the man. He notices and smiles harder. She wants to shove her fist down his throat. 

Following the infuriating knight is another tall, broad-shouldered man. He is fair-skinned, lean, and elegant. His silver-blond hair shrouds half of his face yet she can see how handsome he is despite this. Handsome doesn’t feel like the best word in his case, however. He looks the way fae kings are said to look.

He’s an ethereal beauty. 

When their eyes meet, Lyanna finds herself staring into sad, violet eyes. This is the boy from the portrait. A man grown now. 

He stops in front of her, and her breath hitches, the action causing her cleavage to rise higher. The man’s eyes never leave her face. Even as he carefully takes her hand into his. His hand is strong and warm, his nails long, clean, and they look sharp almost like claws. But his touch is gentle. 

“Welcome, Lady Lyanna,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk. He lightly kisses her knuckles. “I'm Rhaegar Targaryen, the lord of this castle.” 

Lyanna swallows hard and nods. Her words are trapped inside of her throat, and she truly hates it. She isn’t some empty-headed maiden who is so easily moved. And yet…

Rhaegar releases her hand and moves away. Whatever spell that was placed on her seems to wear off. She can breathe easier and she doesn’t feel so warm all over anymore. He holds her chair for her. She sits and he pushes her up to the table. When he sits, Viserys and Daenerys sit as well. 

“I see you’ve already met my younger siblings,” Rhaegar says, smiling at the children. “I hope they were polite.” 

Why does she get the feeling that his concern is more so for Viserys and not Daenerys? Perhaps because it's Viserys who rolls his eyes at his brother’s comment. He seems like the troublemaker out of the two. 

“They were very polite and welcoming,” Lyanna says, trying not to make eye contact with Rhaegar again. There is something about his eyes… “Would it be rude of me to ask which kingdom I am in?” 

“Of course not.” Rhaegar lifts his finger for no apparent reason. “Are you familiar with the Crownlands?” 

“I am.” She has seen it on the table map her father keeps in his chambers. To think the creature brought her this far south. 

Several servants enter carrying platters of food. Dinner is roasted boar, rye bread, quail eggs, nuts, goat cheese, and something Lyanna has never seen before. 

“It’s a fig,” Rhaegar says, understanding her confusion. “From Dorne.” 

Dorne is another place Lyanna has only ever seen on a map. The southern kingdoms and their practices are foreign to her. The north, where she is from, is the only world she has ever known. 

Viserys who shows her how to eat the fig. He does so in a way that’s not mocking and for that she is thankful. She finds the fig quite enjoyable. 

“The wine is Dornish as well,” Rhaegar says, lifting his goblet. It’s gold with encrusted rubies. A lord with this kind of wealth is unheard of. Only kings are surrounded by such riches. At least it's that way in the North. But she is in the South now. Perhaps things are different here. “What do they often toast to where you’re from?” 

“We toast to the old and the new gods so that they may bless us with a short winter.” 

“To the old and the new gods then,” Rhaegar says, drinking. 

Lyanna smiles and does the same. The wine is sweet. She’s never had wine so sweet. Before she can stop herself she drinks half of it. There's something about this place, these people that make her feel relaxed as though she wasn't afraid and nervous only moments ago.

“Forgive me,” she mutters, embarrassed by her overindulgence. 

Rhaegar chuckles warmly. “Indulgence is encouraged here," he says. 

The others at the table seem content amongst themselves.

Arthur is helping Daenerys with her food when needed, and speaking softly with the little girl and making her giggle at every other thing. Viserys appears to be lost in his own mind. Occasionally, he will answer one of Daenerys’s many inquiries. Other than that, it is only her and Rhaegar speaking. 

Rhaegar asks her if the food is to her liking, and he tells her that he can have something else prepared if she doesn’t like it. Lyanna assures him the food is good because it is. He asks her about her stay so far, about Gaia specifically. She doesn’t mention the woman’s rudeness and keeps her answers short and polite. 

When he isn’t talking to her, he’s watching her. Not in a lecherous way. His gaze doesn’t make her feel the way the gazes of old men and the few suitors in her village made her feel. It as if Rhaegar is trying to see what his eyes cannot. The heat of his gaze is intense, like the heat of a furnace. She only wishes for him to stop because of how it makes her body react. 

As soon as the thought enters her mind, Rhaegar looks away from her, and Lyanna can breathe again. She finishes off her wine. 

“My lord,” she says, finally looking at him again. “You have yet to ask me how I happened upon your shores…” 

Although the others aren’t looking at them, she knows they’re listening, waiting. 

“I was informed of the state you were in when Arthur found you,” Rhaegar says, not meeting her eyes. “I thought it rude to bombard you with questions so soon. If you are ready to discuss it then by all means.” 

Lyanna glances at Daenerys. She doesn’t want to frighten the child. But Daenerys is in Arthur’s lap now, nodding off against his chest. If she didn’t know any better, she would assume the man was her father. 

“I was stolen from my village,” Lyanna says quietly. 

“Stolen?” Rhaegar asks, raising a fine eyebrow. 

Actually, she was given up like a lamb to the slaughter and no one tried to save her. She doesn’t want to reveal that part to Rhaegar or any of them. She has her reasons. 

“Yes, by a creature,” she says. “I believe it will return here looking for me. I ask that you help me return to my village." She has no reason to return but where else could she go? 

“What kind of creature?” Viserys asks, not masking his intrigue. 

“I do not know if it goes by a different name in the southern kingdoms but in the north, we call it a dragon.” 

A heavy silence falls over the table. Even Daenerys, who was snoring only moments ago, is sleeping quietly now. Initially, she assumes their silence is due to disbelief. Viserys is the first to break the silence. 

“A dragon, you say?” He grins mischievously. “How terrible.” Rhaegar cuts his eyes at the boy, and Viserys’s grin fades. He straightens up in his chair. “I meant no offense, my lady.” 

“No offense was taken.” 

“Lady Lyanna,” Rhaegar starts, his eyes sincere, “I am sorry for any discomfort this...dragon...has caused you. I should be able to arrange your safe return to your village in the coming days.” 

She hoped they could set out in the morning but she understands that preparations have to be made. “Thank you, my lord. I will never forget your kindness.” 

Dinner resumes. 

Pleased with the conversation’s outcome, Lyanna has more wine. She knows it is unladylike to drink excessively but it’s a very good wine and no one is here to scold her and she doesn't have to be responsible and see to it that her brothers don't do anything reckless. Besides, she is eight and ten now. Old enough to drink as much as she pleases and do whatever she please-

Lyanna blinks. She shouldn't be drinking and enjoying herself as though she were an honorable guest and not trying to survive. Once again, she nearly forgot her priorities. 

Soon, Arthur excuses himself to put Daenerys to bed. Not too long after, Viserys excuses himself as well. Only her and Rhaegar are left at the table. 

They’re the only ones left in the banquet hall. 

They're alone together. 

Why is she hyper-focusing on that small detail? Is it the wine? 

Rhaegar appears to be the silent, observant sort. He seems to prefer to watch, only speak when necessary, and learn everything he can about a person while guarding his own secrets. He’s mysterious. He likes to keep it that way, too. But this is all just speculation. She doesn’t know anything about even though it feels as if they’ve met before. 

“You like the wine,” Rhaegar says, knowingly. 

Lyanna can feel herself blush. “You were the one who told me indulgence is encouraged here.” She isn’t sure how she gets the courage to look him in the eye as she says that, but she does just that. 

“That I did.” 

Now that she thinks about it, this is the only man, outside of her family, that she’s ever been alone with. When suitors come for her, Septa Mordane always chaperones. Or her eldest brother, Brandon, will be present. The realization makes the wine in her stomach sour. She touches her stomach, feeling ill all of a sudden. 

Rhaegar leans forward to check on her, and she quickly leans away. 

“Forgive me, my lord. I believe I should retire for the evening. The day has been long…” 

“Of course. Please allow me to see you to your chamber.” 

Lyanna eyes him warily. He appears to be a kind and respectable man. Looks are deceiving, though. “I...I…” By the gods, is she already drunk? 

“I understand.” He lifts his finger again. 

Moments later, Gaia enters.

Rhaegar orders her to escort Lyanna to her chamber. He bids her a good night before she departs. She would’ve returned the well wish if it weren’t for the wave of nausea that takes over her. Thankfully, the contents of her stomach remain in her stomach. 

Gaia helps her change into a sleeping gown and combs her hair. The woman is quiet throughout the entire affair. With the girdle no longer constricting her, Lyanna feels a thousand times better and doesn’t feel as if she’s going to shame herself by vomiting. Perhaps that's all it was. It was the damn girdle. 

When she’s left alone, she doesn’t explore the room like she wants to. Instead, she gets right into bed. The moment her head touches the pillow she falls fast asleep. 

* * *

“Go ahead, say it.” 

“You’re a scoundrel and a coward,” Arthur says without hesitation. “What kind of game are you playing at?” 

Rhaegar doesn’t take his eyes off the scroll laid out in front of him. They’re in his library. Well, they’re in what used to be his library. He spends more time here than he does anywhere else. He even sleeps in here. This might as well be his bed chamber. 

“I assure you this is not a game to me. Need I remind you how long I’ve searched for her? How much misery I’ve endured in my search?” 

Arthur’s expression is remorseful. “Poor choice of words on my behalf,” he says. “I only meant that you’re going about this the wrong way. When she discovers the truth—” 

“Arthur, please. Yell at me some other time. For now, allow me to revel in this sweet moment longer.” 

“Fine.” The man sits across from him, sighing heavily. “Dinner went well. She’s...interesting.” 

Rhaegar scoffs. “Is that all you can say about her? She’s beautiful, has some level of intelligence from what I’ve gathered…” He pauses. “I should probably never say that to her, should I?” 

“It could rub her the wrong way, yes,” Arthur chuckles and rolls his eyes. “You must remember that she’s human. We are easily offended.” 

“I’ve said worse to you when we first met.” 

The day Rhaegar found Arthur in the woods lining the castle he nearly killed the man for trespassing, but he was interested to know how a mere mortal broke through his barrier so easily. Out of that curiosity, developed a friendship, a bond rather. 

“I have thick skin.” Arthur looks at the scroll Rhaegar was reading before he entered the library. It’s a scroll they’ve both read hundreds of times. “Are you certain she’s the one the prophecy speaks of?” 

Rhaegar recalls the scent of Lyanna’s blood in the flames, the way it called to him, and the way his body, mind, and soul answered the call. During dinner, her blood called to him still. None of the previous sacrifices affected him so. In fact, he felt nothing when he met them while in this form. If the ritual is done correctly, he'll be summoned either way. That doesn't mean anything. What truly matters is how his body reacts to a person when he's like this.

“It’s her,” he says confidently. 


	2. Ritual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know most of you have read these chapters already but more world-building has been added so just a heads up. Moodboard by iamsmall

That night, Lord Rhaegar visits her dreams. 

Well, it isn’t him. Not really. It’s simply his dream self interacting with her dream self. 

Lyanna isn’t sure how or why the man happened upon her dream but she can’t say that his presence there is unwanted. In fact, the sight of him delights her. She lifts the skirts of her sweeping gown and runs to him, her heart full to bursting. 

This has to be a dream. Why else would she be this delighted to see a man she hardly knows? 

They’re in a vast, verdant meadow filled with wildflowers; poppies, dandelions, daisies, and milkmaids. Above their heads, the sun hangs high in the clear sky, casting them with its warm, golden embrace. It's safe here. She's safe here. Nothing can hurt her. 

Rhaegar takes her by the hand, his touch delicate and warm. 

“We must leave before _It_ arrives,” he says. His voice sounds distorted and muffled as if he’s speaking to her from the other side of the meadow instead of right here in front of her. “Come with me, Lyanna.” 

Lyanna doesn’t know what he’s referring to when he says _It_ , but she wants to go with him. As they’re leaving the meadow, she gets the sudden urge to look back. It's like an instinct that's buried deep inside of her, telling her that she should be too trusting despite what her heart says. 

“Don’t,” Rhaegar says. 

But the warning is futile. 

Lyanna looks back and sees the sunny meadow is now withered and bleak. The flowers and grass are singed, black ashes blowing in the wind. The warmth and safety she previously felt are gone. She looks back to Rhaegar but he is no longer there.

A terrible screech and the flapping of large wings ring in the sky above.

In an instance, the world goes from day to night as the beast’s massive form covers the sky. She searches for Rhaegar but he's not there. She's left at the mercy of the dragon.

She screams.

* * *

Waking with a start, Lyanna sits up in the bed, breathing heavily and sweating. She pulls the sheets up to her neck as if they could protect her from anything. Her entire body is trembling. The dream felt so real, she can still feel the heat of the dragon on her body, under her skin. 

Gradually, the beating of her heart slows and steadies, allowing her to think clearly, and recognize that the heat beneath her skin isn’t entirely due to fear, but something else, something fleshly. 

Lyanna shoves the feelings down deep inside of her, refusing to recognize or accept them. That's how young women in her village are taught to deal with "whims of the flesh" and any other desire that may be deemed wrong in the eyes of people who have no right to worry about her body. 

She looks silly right now, cowering in bed like a child. The dragon can’t reach her in this castle with its high, sturdy walls. She’s not bound to a boulder out in the open for it to easily take her. For now, she is safe. She doubts the beast even knows where she is because it has yet to come for her. 

A thin line of moonlight seeps through the curtains, letting her know that it's still night or early morning. No doubt Gaia will be here in a few hours to force her into another painful girdle and billowy gown so that she may waddle around the castle doing nothing of importance. Even if she is here for a short time, is there nothing she can do to keep her from being idle? 

Perhaps she can see more of the castle and its grounds. Perhaps Rhaegar can show her. Surely the lord is a busy man. She doesn’t want to burden anymore than she already has. 

It crosses her mind to have a look-see inside the chest at the foot of the bed but that dream has left its mark on her mind and body. She doesn’t think she can move from this bed anytime soon. 

What does it mean to dream of another, Lyanna has always wondered. 

The woods witch in her village has dreams of a time yet to pass, and because of that travelers from all over the Northern Kingdom seek her out. There’s also the Oracle of Palestone, but Lyanna doesn’t know much about the Oracle or if she dreams at all. The tales say she never sleeps, eats, or cries. She just gives people their prophecies upon request day in and day out. 

What a terrible life, she thinks sadly. To be trapped in a high tower, catering to the greed of men. 

As a girl, she would dream of her mother, sometimes her father. The dreams were more like memories rather than fabrications of the mind like so many dreams often are. She’s never dreamed of anyone outside of her family. 

That’s isn’t true. 

She’s dreamt of faceless strangers before but their presence in her dreams has never been as impactful as Rhaegar’s. If only the dragon hadn’t appeared. Rhaegar told her not to look back. If she dreams of him again, she will heed his warning. 

* * *

Gaia does come for her later.

The gown she is given to wear today isn’t as lavish as the gown she wore for dinner, but a girdle is still required, unfortunately. Lyanna endures, however. And the periwinkle compliments her nicely she thinks. Instead of pulling her hair up again, Gaia gives her a single braid and adorns it with pearls and tiny flowers. 

If Lyanna remembers correctly one of the women in the portraits wore her hair this way as well. 

“Queen Rhaenys,” Gaia answers Lyanna’s question. “The bards and minstrels adored her. The common folk, too. I figured this style would suit your hair better. Do you like it?” 

The woman is nicer today, she notes. Lyanna wonders if Rhaegar had a word with her. She hopes he wasn’t too harsh. He doesn’t seem like the type of man to be cruel to his subjects, but she doesn’t know him from a pail of water. He could be a monster for all she knows. 

“Yes, I like it very much. Thank you, Gaia.” 

“The family usually breaks their fasts at different times, ” Gaia says, adding finishing touches to Lyanna’s hair. “The Master and Arthur have already broken theirs. You can eat alone or join the little lord and lady if you want.” 

Lyanna decides to eat with Daenerys and Viserys. 

They don’t dine in the great hall again, but outside on one of the many balconies that overlook the beach. The weather is fair and the breeze gentle. For breakfast, they have a tasteful spread of poached eggs, bread, plum jam, nuts, figs, and roasted fish. 

Little Daenerys is cute as a button in a purple dress and her silver ringlets adorned with white flowers while her brother is wearing a red velvet vest over his white blouse. She isn’t sure how the flowers in Daenerys’s hair stay in place with all of the child’s wiggling. Her brother looks as if he’s irritated, but Lyanna gets the feeling that’s just how he always looks.

“Did you sleep well, my lady?” Viserys asks. 

For a child, he speaks eloquently and with an air of authority. Granted, he is a lord who is a descendant of royalty apparently. 

“Yes, I did.” She did sleep well for the most part even though she wasn’t able to fall asleep again after waking from her nightmare. “Thank you for asking.” 

Viserys nods and eats quietly. Daenerys is a different story. She bombards Lyanna with question after question. But Lyanna doesn’t mind at all. Children are just naturally curious. 

“I am from a village called Winterfell. It’s very far from here. I have two older brothers and a younger brother.” 

“You’re the only girl, too?” Daenerys asks, her violet eyes bright and big. “We’re the same!” she declares cheerfully. 

“Yes, we are,” Lyanna laughs. “Us only daughters have to stick together.” 

Daenerys nods vigorously. She makes a face at Viserys. “Viserys won’t let me play with swords with him because I’m a little lady.” She pouts. 

“No, that isn’t true,” he says patiently. “I won’t let you play with me because you’ll cut yourself. Our family is full of warrior women. When you’re older, you can train all you like.” 

A sensible response, she thinks. 

At least Daenerys has the option. Lyanna’s father forbade her from ever picking up a sword though she did anyway in secret. She thinks of encouraging Dany to do the same, but with a sparring sword, but it isn’t her place. Viserys doesn’t want his little sister to get hurt. There’s nothing wrong with that.

As for the warrior women in their family, she would like to know more about that. So, she asks. 

“I believe a tour is in order.” 

Lyanna looks up to see Rhaegar stepping out onto the balcony. Similar to his little brother, he’s wearing a velvet vest over his blouse, but his vest is black. He’s also wearing a pair of black leather riding boots. He looks as if he’s just returned from a ride. Lyanna envies him of that. She would love to go for a ride. 

“My lord,” Lyanna greets with a bow of her head. 

Rhaegar goes over to Dany, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. The girl giggles happily. It’s clear that she adores her big brother. 

“Would you be interested, my lady?” Rhaegar asks. He steals a berry from Viserys’s plate and ignores the boy’s annoyed grumbles. “In a tour, that is. I can tell you more about the warrior women in our family.” 

There’s something about the display that makes Lyanna think of her own brothers; she misses them. It speaks to Rhaegar’s closeness with his siblings as well. She finds that aspect of him charming. 

“Yes. I am interested.” 

“Please, finish your meal. I will return for you.” He leaves the balcony. 

At first glance, Rhaegar comes off as the kind of lord who sends others to do his bidding; to wet their blades in his name. However, his statute says otherwise. There is a strength in his form that speaks of his physical prowess more than his pretty face does. Her eyes lower to his firm backside. He’s very strapping. 

She stops herself from eyeing him further and quickly looks away. She finds Viserys smirking at her as if he read her mind. Ashamed, she keeps her eyes on her plate for the remainder of breakfast.

* * *

Humans, Rhaegar has learned over the years, are very easy to read. 

Their individual desires and aspirations are as clear as the Blessed Springs his ancestor Baelor I once bathed in. Because of his casual bath, the springs were henceforth called the Blessed Springs and it is believed that they can grant eternal youth to mortals. 

Even Arthur, as unique as he is, is awfully transparent. The man is bound by honor. He lives to serve and to shield the lives of those he’s sworn to protect. Most knights are like that. The real ones, anyway. There isn’t a greedy or wicked bone in Arthur’s body. Because of that, Rhaegar personally chose him to guard his family in this realm. 

As for Lyanna, she shares a desire with only a few women in her position. She wishes for freedom, to make her own choices, and live the way she wants to live. The idea of being paired off with a suitor she hardly knows frightens her. She hates the idea of being tied down, controlled. She wants to roam the world freely, untethered to the duties her family’s name has bestowed on her. 

How does Rhaegar know all of this? 

Well, it’s one of his many gifts; his intuition. It isn’t the same as mind-reading. That requires more power than he currently has. He can only recognize a person’s whims, not the depth behind those whims. 

During the golden age of his people, they could perform all sorts of magical feats, but as their race died out, so did their magic. Even still, his kind is still considered the most powerful of the magical creatures. Without them, all of the magic in the world would be lost. 

Which is why it is imperative for him to succeed. 

“I’ve never heard of any kings and queens of old with silver hair and violet eyes, my lord.” Lyanna admires a portrait of his ancestor, Visenya Targaryen. “Then again, I didn’t even know what a fig was.” She laughs at her ignorance. 

Rhaegar doesn’t know many humans are willing to laugh at their ignorance. But he doesn’t know many humans; he prefers to keep it that way. “The history of my ancestors was omitted from the history texts. All that remains of them reside here.” 

After showing her the various drawing rooms, the ballroom, and the natural hot spring that resides in the lower part of the castle, he brought her to the display room. Here, he keeps artifacts that once belonged to his ancestors. They move from Visenya’s shrine and he shows her Rhaenyra Targaryen’s ruby choker; a gift from her consort and uncle. 

Rhaegar omits all mentions of incest. Humans don’t take too kindly to it, he’s heard. 

“Why is that?” Lyanna asks. 

“It is a subject I would rather not discuss. Forgive me, my lady.” 

“No, forgive me for asking.” Something across the room catches her eye and she smiles. “Is that a bow? I’ve never seen one like that before.” She walks over to the case. 

It was her who was following him from case to case but now he follows her. Lyanna reads the nameplate to herself. In the glass, he watches her reflection. She reads the name carefully, lightly tracing her fingers over the engraved letters. 

“It’s written in both the common tongue and High Valyrian,” he tells her. 

“Daena Targaryen,” Lyanna reads aloud. “Daena the Defiant. May her wilful soul live on.” She smiles. “I like her already.” 

Rhaegar chuckles. 

“What kind of bow is this?” 

“It’s Dornish.” 

“But of course. Is everything from Dorne?” she jokes. 

“Seems that way, I know. Our family has strong ties to Dorne, the Martells specifically. We have been bound by marriage and blood for centuries.” 

Lyanna looks at the nameplate again. “And you said it was also written in High Vah...I’m sorry.” 

“Valryian,” he pronounces slowly, drawing out every syllable. 

The cadence of his voice appears to have an effect on her. She shivers and a faint blush spreads across her face; he can smell the blood rise. 

Humans are so responsive, he thinks amusedly. 

In her defense, they are standing awfully close and he does burn hotter than an average person does. He knows she can feel the heat of him on her back, he knows how that heat can both intimidate and arouse. 

Rhaegar isn’t that merciless, however. He takes a step back.

“I promised to show you the gardens, as well. Shall we?”

Lyanna blinks and nods slowly. 

“I take it you have a passion for archery, my lady,” he says as they’re walking through the corridors. 

“In my village, women and girls are given certain duties. None of those duties require the use of a bow or any weapons other than a small blade to gut fish.” 

Which would explain why her village, much like the other human villages, are so poorly defended. If they simply taught everyone, both men and women, how to fend for themselves, their species would be harder to kill. At the same time, Rhaegar is fortunate for their incompetence because too many of their heroes have slain his kind. 

That’s how it all began. Some magical creatures believed that humans deserved the same knowledge they possessed. When that knowledge was shared, mankind turned it into a perversion and used it for their own selfish gains. 

Rhaegar shuts that part of his mind down. He doesn’t want to let that ingrained anger and hatred to cloud his opinion of Lyanna. She’s not like those humans. Like Arthur, she’s unique. 

“If things were different in your village would you be interested in archery?” 

“I suppose,” she says as if she wasn’t just staring at Daena’s bow the way some women stare at silver combs and diamond tiaras.

He imagines she had to hide these desires whilst in her village. All of that hiding and denying can make a person go mad with greed once they finally get to do what they want. He knows from experience, of course. 

They step out into the terrace and enter through the garden’s arched hedge gate. In the garden, Rhaegar is introduced to another side of Lyanna. The same woman who fancies tales of warrior women and their beloved weapons of choice also fancies flowers. And there is an abundance of flowers here because his mother fancied them as well. 

“Rhaella’s Garden,” Rhaegar says. “In honor of my late mother.” 

Lyanna gives him a sympathetic look. “I’m very sorry, my lord. The garden is very lovely.” 

“Please do have a look around. There are more than 300 species of flowers here.” 

“I’ve never seen so many.” 

She’s very expressive. Every time she sees something she likes, her grey eyes brighten and her smile is blinding. He knows she either dislikes or doesn’t care for something by the way that light dims, and her eyes quickly search for another item of interest. That light never dims here in the garden, however. She’s all smiles and curious glances. 

Rhaegar thinks he could watch her admiring the flowers for hours without fear of boredom. 

“My lord, come look,” Lyanna calls to him. 

He’s embarrassed by how eager he is to answer her call. All this time, he’s been keeping a safe distance, allowing her to enjoy the flowers on her own.

She points to the rose bush, showing him the single blue rose among the red.

“It’s a winter rose,” Lyanna says, grinning. “They grow in my village. They’re the only flowers that grow from the snow.” 

“How peculiar.” It is indeed. Rhaegar plucks the flower, and before Lyanna can scold him—because she looks as if she’s going to— he presents it to her, bowing slightly. “For the lady.” 

He’s awarded with another blush and a bashful smile. Only seconds ago she looked as if she was going to knock him across the head. Now she’s as delicate as the rose she is now holding up to her nose. Of course, the rose has its thorns. 

That’s what she reminds him of. A rose. 

Lyanna is a woman of many sides, he sees. He’s anxious to unravel her. Unfortunately, that will have to wait. Rhaegar’s ears twitch, a tingle brushing against his neck. It’s his instincts warning him of a threat. 

Something has infiltrated the barrier.

* * *

Further away from the gardens, Viserys and Dany are out in the lining woods. The former likes to come out here for a silence that isn’t as suffocating as the castle’s walls while the latter just likes to follow her brother around everywhere. Which makes Viserys’s search for peace and quiet fruitless. 

If he doesn’t let Dany come along she’ll cry, and if he makes her cry Rhaegar will make him cry harder. In all honesty, Viserys doesn’t mind Dany joining him on his ventures into the woods. She can be talkative at times, yes, and she’s constantly tripping over everything from fallen branches, thick tree roots, and her own feet, but she understands when he needs his space. 

He doubts a lot of children understand that. Perhaps it has more to do with her developing powers. 

“Viserys! Look!” Daenerys shouts, running up to her brother with her new discovery held high for him to see. “I found a pretty rock!” 

The “pretty rock” is nothing more than a clump of obsidian; dragon glass. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of clumps scattered around the castle’s grounds. But Daenerys looks so happy and proud of herself that he doesn’t have the heart to tell her how insignificant her discovery is. 

At least not today. He’s in a relatively good mood. Catching the mortal woman openly eyeing his brother’s arse is definitely the reason. Small delights. 

“That’s great, Dany.” He takes the rock, pretending to examine it. “It looks like a jewel, doesn’t it?” 

Dany nods. “You can have it. It’s my gift to you!” 

Now, when she goes and does adorable shit like that, Viserys can’t help but indulge her. Kneeling in front of her, he clutches his chest. 

“Thank you, Dany. I shall cherish this gift always.” 

“You are most welcome.” She runs off again. “I’m going to get one for big brother.” 

Viserys resumes the footwork exercises that Arthur taught him. His brother promised him to gift him with the family’s ancestral bastard sword on his fourteenth nameday if he mastered his lessons. Until then, all he has is a silver dagger that is mostly used for slicing apples. 

Pivoting on his foot, he lunges forward at his invisible opponent. Behind him a twig snaps. Turning around, he sees four, hideous goblins eyeing him hungrily with depthless beady eyes. Black saliva drips from their mouths onto the ground. 

“Ew,” Viserys says in disgust.

“We smell another,” the biggest goblin says. The other three are no taller than Viserys, but this one is much taller. “A tastier one.” He grins, revealing jagged, yellow teeth. 

Just then, Dany runs up, holding another rock in her hands. “Found it!” she exclaims. 

The goblins turn their gaze on her. 

“Dany,” Viserys shouts, “conceal yourself!” 

Terrified, Dany drops the rock, and crouches down, closing her eyes tightly. Half a second later, she disappears. The goblins look around frantically, trying to see where she went. Viserys attacks the one closest to him, stabbing the ugly creature with his silver dagger. It disintegrates. 

That’s because silver kills most monsters. 

The head goblin orders the other two to kill Viserys. He has his sights on Dany because she’s smaller. Goblins do love smaller children because they’re supposedly tastier. 

Viserys takes out the rock Dany gave him from his pocket and hits one goblin in the head with it. That gives him enough time to lunge at the other goblin. He slices at it, trying to land a clean hit. All he manages to do is leave a nasty, sizzling cut on its face. 

If there were only two, he’d have a better chance. But four are too many for him. Viserys doesn’t give up, however. He’ll be damned if he lets the likes of these low-level creatures harm his sister. 

The goblin he cut grabs hold of him, using its brute force to overpower him. Viserys still has another trick up his sleeve. 

“Zīragon,” Viserys utters.

It’s one of the many spells his mother taught him before she died. He’s happy to know it works. The goblin’s movement ceases and its arms drop, freeing Viserys from its hold. Flipping the dagger in his hand, Viserys catches it, and stabs the goblin in the chin, killing it. 

Now there are only two goblins left. 

However, Viserys doesn’t get to kill them. Just as the head goblin uncovers Dany and reaches for her, Rhaegar appears out of thin air, literally. 

He turns his violet gaze on the head goblin and says, “Dracarys.” 

And the goblin erupts in black flames, it’s shrill cries ringing in the air. 

Rhaegar turns his narrowed gaze on the other goblin and does the same. He allows them to burn for a few seconds, drawing out the torture, before outstretching both of his hands and balling them up into tight fists. Doing so causes the burning globins to disintegrate, the flames disappearing with their charred corpses. 

“I had things under control!” Viserys shouts despite them both knowing he definitely didn’t. 

Rhaegar picks up a shivering Dany. “Are you hurt?” he asks her, checking over her. 

Shaking her head, Dany wraps her tiny arms around Rhaegar’s neck, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Viserys sheaths his dagger and walks over to his siblings. 

“I told her to conceal herself and she did fine for the most part,” Viserys says. 

“You both did well.” Rhaegar looks at Viserys. “You took out two on your own and kept Dany safe. Thank you, brother.” 

“Well, of course. You would’ve punished me had I let anything happen to her.” Rhaegar cups the back of Dany’s head tenderly as he glances around the woods. “They shouldn’t have been able to slip through the barrier. Goblins are as powerless as humans are to our magic.” 

“Yet they got through.” 

“I will need to have the barrier reinforced. I haven't realized how much time has passed since the last time..." 

“That means _they’ll_ have to come. Do you think that’s a good idea with the mortal being here?” 

“No. But it’s necessary.” Rhaegar turns to leave, and Viserys follows. “Don’t act as if you aren’t excited to see your dear Arianne again.” 

“She’s not my dear anything!” 

Rhaegar laughs. “Sure, brother. Whatever you say." 

* * *

Whatever required Lord Rhaegar’s immediate attention earlier must have been serious. The man, his siblings, and the imposter knight are absent during dinner. Lyanna takes her meal in her chambers. It’s a lonely yet bearable affair. She doesn’t mind the silence as it gives her time to reflect on her day. 

Perhaps it is too callous of her to refer to Ser Arthur as an imposter knight. She knows nothing about the man. Aside from the fact that he's Dornish. She believes Rhaegar mentioned it to her offhandedly during the tour.

After Rhaegar left her in the gardens, Gaia came for her and showed her to the library where she combed through several books about the Dornish people. She was deep in a story about the sorceress queen, Nymeria when the servant returned to her with the news of the others’ absence. She was allowed to bring the book back to her room and she's trying to finish it now. 

But her thoughts are elsewhere. 

She doubts she will see the lord again tonight so she takes her bath early and puts on the thin gown Gaia left out for her. The same as the sleeves of her gown from last night, the fabric can be seen through depending on the lighting. 

The next time Gaia dresses her, she’s going to just put her hair up and send her out with her tits bare. Lyanna laughs to herself. She’s overreacting, she knows. It’s just that in her village it’s too cold to wear anything like this, and if she did wear anything like this, nice things wouldn’t be said about her. 

Lyanna curls up on the chaise lounge chair with the book about Queen Nymeria. To think stories like these have existed for centuries and she never heard about them until now. Ever since the Seven's influence enraptured the Northern Kingdom, magic and magic-related topics have been shunned for the most part. The woods witch only manages to survive for her immense healing powers. But soon, the Maesters will be the only source of healing in their realm. 

Her father has predicted as much. 

She’s reading about the loves of Queen Nymeria when she finds herself constantly distracted. She can’t stop thinking about being in the gardens with Rhaegar. Whenever she's around him, she just...

Lyanna sighs. She's been doing that an awful lot lately. 

The rose he gave her sits on the table beside the bed. He’s a charmer. Men like Rhaegar probably go from village to village wooing the smallfolk. She imagines he has countless women he’s courting. It’s a wonder he isn’t married already. Gods, she sounds like the old crones in her village who constantly pester her about her lack of a husband. 

Sighing in frustration, Lyanna slams the book close. She doesn’t know why she’s so upset all of a sudden. She decides its best she tries to sleep. Tomorrow, she will ask the Lord when they can arrange for her to leave. She doesn't know where she's going to go but she needs to start thinking about that and not how Rhaegar's arse looks in his riding pants. 

Lyanna is preparing to get into bed when there’s a knock at her door. Automatically, she assumes it’s Gaia even though the woman never knocks. She opens the door and sees Rhaegar. They stare at each other for a long second until she realizes what she’s wearing. 

Eyes widening, she closes the door in his face. “One moment,” she calls out, running to the wardrobe to grab a robe. 

Her entire face is red. Surely he caught a glimpse of something he shouldn’t see. Damn Gaia. 

Securing the robe around her, she rushes back to the door. Rhaegar is still there, thankfully. 

“My lord,” she says, a little winded. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“Lady Lyanna, I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” 

“Interrupting? No, of course not.” 

Rhaegar eyes her curiously. “I wanted to apologize for my abrupt departure earlier as well as my absence at dinner.” 

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lord. I understand you are a busy man.” 

“Not for you, my lady.” Rhaegar straightens up. “What I meant is that you are my honored guest. I want to ensure that you are well taken care of during your stay.” 

His sincerity is moving. Lyanna finds herself leaning against the door, wanting to be closer to him. “That’s very kind of you to say....” That feeling is back again. That undeniable pull toward him. Is she experiencing what the ladies in her village call "longing?" 

Rhaegar leans closer as well. Once again, the heat rolls off of him in waves, making goosebumps rise on her flesh; make her nipples erect. 

What would happen if she invited him in? To talk, nothing more. Would he try to do more? The longer she stares into his eyes, the less she cares about what’s proper and ladylike. Being alone in her chambers with a man isn’t a terrible thing, is it? 

Perhaps not, but this man is a stranger to her. A beautiful and alluring stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. She would have to know him better before dropping her guard any further than she already has. Besides, she will leave this place soon. 

Lyanna leans away. “Goodnight, my lord.” 

If Rhaegar is disappointed, he doesn’t reveal it. “Goodnight.” 

Later, in bed, she tosses and turns fitfully for what feels like hours. When she finally falls asleep, she dreams of Rhaegar again.

* * *

“They’re here.” 

Opening his eyes, Rhaegar breaks the connection he’d made with Lyanna in her dreams. As he assumed, she will not accept his true form as easily as she accepts him as he is now. That is the point of all of this, after all.

Last time, the maiden was so frightened by him that she tried to throw herself off a cliff. Luckily, he caught her and took her to another kingdom. 

Her family was not kind to her. Her father especially. Now she’s married to a baron and is carrying her first child. Rhaegar likes to check in on her to make sure he didn’t leave her with another monster. 

She wasn’t the one he needed, anyway. 

Arthur sighs. “Did you have to summon all of them?” 

They leave his library and head for the old throne room where their visitors await. 

“Where one goes, the others follow,” Rhaegar says. “You know that as well as I. Besides, I’ve missed our friends.” 

The old throne room is as grand as it was in the ages of kings and queens. The only difference is that his family’s seat of power, their throne, is no longer there. It was one of the many things they lost during the war. Standing in front of the dais are three figures donning velvet, mustard cloaks, their heads covered with heavy hoods. 

“Thank you for coming,” Rhaegar says. “I see Arianne has already found Viserys.” 

“She was eager to see him,” Oberyn Martell says, removing his hood. When he does so, the others follow suit. “It has been too long, old friends.” 

“Not long enough,” Arthur mutters, doing his best not to meet the gaze of the woman who is staring daggers at him. 

Rhaegar approaches the trio. “Ellaria,” he greets, kissing both of her cheeks. She returns the gesture happily. Then he moves to the woman who is still staring at Arthur. “Elia.” He kisses her cheeks as well. She also returns the gesture, but without much zest as Ellaria. “Come, I will show you the area where the goblins entered.” 

“Please, Rhaegar,” Oberyn groans. “Must we get into that now? It will take a lot of energy for us to complete this task. Let us drink first.” 

“But of course.” Rhaegar silently summons a servant. “Though I know you will need to do more than drink to prepare yourselves. I hear your last task took a lot from you all.” 

Oberyn shrugs. “The profit was worth it in the end.” 

Ellaria smiles and discreetly moves in front of Elia to block her line of sight. “Will you partake this time, Rhaegar?” she asks, hopeful. 

“Does he ever?” Elia asks, stepping around Ellaria. But she doesn’t look at Arthur again. “Rhaegar never participates in the sacred ritual. He’s a bore.” 

The servant arrives with a tray of glasses all filled with burgundy wine. They each take a glass. 

Oberyn steps up to Rhaegar, appraising him. “Want you join us for once? It would be…” He sighs dreamily. “The sweetest of pleasures.” 

“I must regretfully decline,” Rhaegar says. “But I will be present so that you may draw power from me.” 

“I’m sorry, my love,” Oberyn says to Ellaria, pulling her into his arms. He kisses along the smooth column of her neck. “I tried.” 

“One day,” Ellaria says, confidently. “We will get him one day.” She glances over at Elia then at Arthur. “But Arthur will join us, yes?” 

Despite the hostility between his friend and Elia, Rhaegar already knows Arthur’s answer. 

“Have I ever turned down the invitation?” Arthur asks rhetorically. 

It's not like he could if he wanted. Like them, Arthur is a devout servant of the goddess. 

“Very good,” Oberyn says, clapping once. “We will need more people. It’s always better with more people.” He closes his eyes. humming softly. “I can sense another here. A human." He smiles. "A vestal virgin, at that. Will they partake?” 

A vestal virgin is someone who's blood has never been used in a ritual and someone who has never had sexual intercourse; the latter is hardly important to beings like them. Then again, maiden's blood is a powerful ingredient for dark spells. The summoning that the Maester used to draw him to the village wasn't a ritual but simply a summoning. What they're about to partake in now is a true ritual. 

Rhaegar’s answer to Oberyn is immediate. “No. She will not.” He doesn’t leave any room open for objections. “She belongs to me,” he says. 

* * *

Lyanna isn’t sure what it is that wakes her. 

She isn’t even sure she’s awake. Everything feels hazy as if she were trapped inside of a fever dream, and her body moves on its own accord as if she were a marionette being controlled by some unseen, powerful force. 

Low chanting, rhythmic drums, and carnal sounds fill her ears, drawing her closer like a siren’s song. She wanders through the dark corridors of the castle, the stern, proud faces of the lord’s ancestors peering down their noses at her. 

If she didn’t know any better she would think their eyes follow her as she passes, glowing like jewels.

Passing the banquet hall, Lyanna’s feet lead her further into the castle, down corridors she’s never walked before. With every step, the voices become louder, and the pull stronger. There's also a voice in her head. A woman's voice. No, not a woman. A goddess. 

_Come to me, Lyanna._ She's saying. _Give yourself to me._

Lyanna suddenly feels hot. It isn’t the same kind of heat that a furnace gives off. No, it’s the same kind of heat she experiences when Rhaegar stands too close to her, the heat she felt when she read about Nymeria and her lovers. Initially, it settles at the base of her spine, and her belly. But as the voices grow louder, that heat blossoms and increases.

She’s sweating by the time she reaches the large, open archway of a room she’s unfamiliar with. Her gown is sticking to her skin, her thighs are wet but it isn’t sweat. When the realization dawns on her, she flushes, and that makes her even hotter. 

Why is this happening? Why does she feel this way? 

Panting, she leans against the arch’s frame, her eyes searching for a savior, someone, anyone to free her of this pain. Inside the room, there are people, so many people. Men and Women partially covered in thin cloth while others are completely nude. If that isn’t bizarre enough, then the sight of a man with olive skin kissing another man while a woman is between his legs surely takes the cake. 

There are women kissing other women as well. Men mounting men. Lyanna has never witnessed anything like this. It should disturb her, frighten her even. Instead, there is a throbbing between her legs, a pulsing throughout her body. She squeezes her thighs to make it stop but that only makes it worse. 

Whimpering quietly, she bites her lips. The more she fights it, the more it hurts. What if she just let go? 

Several heads pop up and turn in her direction. Lyanna gasps when she sees that the people’s eyes are glowing like molten gold. Then a woman with long, dark curls sits up and beckons Lyanna closer with a slender finger. A man who favors Arthur is sucking on the woman's breasts, his hand caressing her between the legs. 

_Give yourself to me._ The woman's voice says inside of Lyanna's head. But something tells Lyanna that it's not the actual woman who's calling to her. Something is currently using her as a vessel.

In a trance, Lyanna steps forward, wanting to be relieved of this searing heat. 

“No,” a deep voice says, echoing throughout the room. 

The interjection ends the woman’s attempt to lure Lyanna in instantly. She returns to her various lovers without so much as another glance in Lyanna’s direction. 

It was Rhaegar who made the interjection. He’s shirtless but doesn’t appear to be a part of the group intercourse though he's the center of it somehow. He steps over the sweaty bodies, making his way toward her. The way her body responds to the sight of him unsettles her. He comes to her, saying nothing. His eyes are glowing as well; a deep, blood red. She gazes into those eyes and is lost in them. His gaze travels all over her, from head to toe, and she can feel his desire. 

It’s as strong as her own. 

Lyanna reaches out for him, gliding her hands over his broad chest. She whimpers again. “My lord…” she sounds like she’s injured or afraid. She is neither. Only confused. “What...is happening?” 

“Do not see me,” he says softly. “Do not see...” 

Lyanna’s head becomes light, the room begins to spin, and her vision blackens. Everything fades away. 

oOo

In the morning when Gaia comes for her, she informs Lyanna that they have guests who will be visiting with the lord and his family for a couple of days. Begrudgingly, she allows the woman to put her in a ridiculous girdle, a pretty dress, and style her hair however she likes; it’s a braid the same as it was yesterday. 

It felt as if she slept for days rather than one night. She's well-rested but also feels out of place. 

When she arrives in the banquet hall, everyone else is already seated. Aside from the lord, his family, and Arthur, there are three other people. Two women and a man. They have the same coloring as Arthur; olive skin, dark, oily hair, but when the man speaks, she notices a heavy accent, unlike Arthur who has a subtle accent. 

“Ah, this is the lovely Lady Lyanna, I’ve heard so much about,” the man says, popping a cherry into his mouth with a smirk. 

Smiling politely, Lyanna takes her seat. Across from her, a beautiful, slender woman with long dark curls and almond-shaped eyes tilts her head at her in a silent greeting. Beside that woman, the other woman smiles at Lyanna. 

It’s strange. Lyanna feels as if she’s met these people before. 


	3. The Goddess Nymeria

The Witch Queen Nymeria was in fact a goddess. 

When her sacred lands of Rhoynar were conquered by the Valyrians, she sailed ten thousand ships containing the last of her people to Dorne where she found a consort in Mors Martell. From their union, a formidable alliance was forged, and the remainder of Dorne was conquered. 

In the years following, the goddess queen reformed laws and customs and created a kingdom that continues to prosper to this day. An accurate summarization of Queen Nymeria’s life and exploits can be found in the blessed library in Dorne. The library also has ancient tomes that hold the key to the goddess’s powers. Only those born of the chosen families are allowed inside of the library, only they can access the goddess's gifts. 

Those families are House Martell, House Uller, and House Dayne. 

It is also said that one day Queen Nymeria will be reborn into one of those houses, that once again she will walk the earth. 

In Dorne, hundreds of young girls, even those not born of those ancient houses, pray nightly that the goddess will bestow her favor unto them and use their bodies as her earthly home. Elia and Ellaria were once those girls. They along with Ashara, Arthur’s younger sister. 

Some would even say that out of all those young girls, Ashara did get her wish. They would also say that among the thousands of girls in Dorne, she’s the most fortunate. But if they were to say that to Arthur, he’d probably kill them. Because for Arthur, fortune has nothing to do with what happened to Ashara. He likes to think of it as a curse. 

On her seventeenth nameday, Ashara was given the goddess’s eyes; the gift of sight. Now she resides on top of the tallest mountain inside the deepest cave in a land with no king nor people. Men and women travel from all over to see the Oracle of Palestone. In Dorne, she is beloved and praised alongside the goddess. 

With great reverence comes suffering, unfortunately. 

Ashara is forever bound to that cave, speaking only in riddles, detached from humanity. She will never know love or true peace. Whenever Arthur treks to Palestone to see his sister, he always returns a little less of the man he was when he went. He seems to believe that he can save her from her fate, but even he must realize that nothing can be done.

Out of pity, Rhaegar has considered forbidding the visits entirely. But he knows Arthur, despite everything, enjoys seeing his sister. He likes to make sure she’s safe. Not that he needs to worry about her safety. Men have made attempts to steal Ashara away, but those men never leave the cave alive. 

“How do you do it?” Rhaegar asks as he and Arthur watch the sorcerers reinforce the barrier. They came out here following breakfast. He didn’t want to leave the barrier weakened any longer than he had. “How do you participate in the ritual despite everything?” 

It was Elia who informed the High Priestess of Ashara’s newfound gift. Arthur, who was her betrothed at the time, begged her not too. Unfortunately, Elia is bound by blood to do the goddess’s bidding. She couldn’t keep her promise to Arthur. Despite being well aware of that, Arthur hasn’t been able to fully forgive her. 

There’s more to the story than Rhaeger will ever understand so he tries not to meddle in their affairs too much. He does pry every so often, however. It's what a good friend would do, after all.

“Like them, I am bound to the goddess,” Arthur replies somberly.

But of course, Rhaegar knows that. 

House Dayne is one of the chosen families, after all. When Arthur was a boy of six and ten, the goddess visited him one night. Although his friend never likes to go into detail of what happened on that night, Rhaegar has an inkling because whenever Arthur thinks of it he gets a brilliant blush on his face. And Rhaegar knows what happens between the Others and humans when night visits are made. His ancestor, Daemon Targaryen, did sire two halflings.

“Is that the only reason why you do it?” Rhaegar glances over at Arthur. He isn’t surprised to see the man frowning. “Do you no longer love-” 

Arthur cuts in, “When do you intend to tell Lady Lyanna that you have no intention of seeing her back to her village?” 

Frowning, Rhaegar clamps his mouth shut.

Truthfully, he deserved that for his pestering. He knows that Arthur doesn’t like to talk about the Elia situation. It’s just that, human emotions have always fascinated him. He can’t imagine willingly fucking someone he claims to despise and to do it so passionately as Arthur does. Although he attends the rituals as a power source, that doesn't mean he doesn't watch out of enjoyment. The way Arthur and Elia fuck is something of an art form. They still love one another. Even someone as emotionally stunted as he can recognize that. 

“Damn you, Rhaegar,” Arthur curses under his breath. “After all these years, you still don’t know shit about boundaries.” 

“You have my apologies.” 

Sighing, Arthur finally looks away from the sorcerers and stares at Rhaegar’s profile. “I envy your ability to distance yourself from your emotions with nothing more than a blink of an eye.”

“It takes an awful lot more than that, I assure you.” 

"Then again, your emotions are always false, aren't they?" 

"Oh, now you're just being cruel." 

Arthur chuckles. "Sorry." 

Just because Rhaegar doesn't quite understand human emotion doesn't mean that he is heartless and cold. He's capable of showing affection to people he deems worthy of it. 

Suddenly, Elia, Ellaria, and Oberyn drop their joined hands and open their eyes. The energy in the atmosphere shifts followed by the sound of faint buzzing.

It’s finished. The barrier has been reinforced. 

Rhaegar thanks the sorcerers once again for their work. Before they depart, he will pay them even though they will not accept it. He’s the only person they won’t accept payment from. They’re some of the few people who still treat him like a king whilst the other magical beings have seemed to have forgotten the lonely dragon in his castle.

“The barrier must have been tampered with,” Elia says, sticking the tip of her tongue out to taste the electric air. “Were the goblins the only creatures to trespass?” 

“I didn’t sense anything else.” 

Oberyn touches the small of Elia’s back. “Come swim with us, sister,” he says. “We’ve done enough work for today.” He would say that even if they hadn’t worked at all. 

“Go on without me," Elia says. "I know you too are going to just end up fucking anyway.” 

Oberyn and Ellaria laugh but they don’t deny her claim. They extend an offer for everyone to join them later before they leave for the beach. 

What Rhaegar can appreciate about the couple is how unashamed they are in their love for debauchery. Elia, on the other hand, is rather reserved outside of the ritual. She only drinks during meals, prefers reading and record-keeping over sparring and creating poisonous potions like her brother Oberyn. She’s the pensive older sister and he the wild younger brother. 

“The human woman,” Elia begins, stepping up to Rhaegar with a serious expression, “which kingdom does she come from?” 

“I don’t see why that is important to you, Elia.” 

“Which kingdom?” she asks curtly. 

Beside him, Arthur bristles. Probably because that same tone used to make his knees tremble. She still affects him. Even after everything. 

“The North,” Rhaegar says, humoring her. “She is from Winterfell.”

“I knew she was a Stark,” Elia says the surname as though it were poison on her tongue. “I smelled it on her. Why do you have her here? Need I remind you what her people did to the wood nymphs?” 

“Must we blame others for their ancestor’s wrongdoing, Elia?” 

“The children were peaceful.” 

“They fought one hell of a war,” Arthur mutters. “Peaceful or not. They didn’t go out easily...” 

Elia cuts her eyes at the knight. 

Rhaegar understands Elia’s anger. When he first came across Winterfell, he thought of reducing it to ash. Humans are known to ruin everything they touch. They go from forest to forest, plundering, chopping down trees, and massacring natives creatures or driving them out of their land entirely. In the tales they write, the natives are monsters or evil enemies to justify their mass murder. 

But they’re not all the same. It took Rhaegar nearly a decade to see that. It's mostly in part thanks to Arthur. 

“Lady Lyanna is my guest,” Rhaegar says, his tone leaving no room for objections. “Whatever her ancestors are guilty of, I ask you not to hold her accountable. You feast with me despite my ancestors being the reason why your goddess fled her home. I believe you’re not above forgiveness, Elia.” 

Elia’s nostrils flare momentarily. Then she blinks as though she were bored suddenly. “She is the one you’ve been seeking, then?” she asks knowingly. 

Rhaegar nods. “You called to her last night. It was her blood, wasn’t it?” He smirks. Lyanna has no idea the power her blood holds. It’s a shock any of the Others haven’t come across her sooner. 

“It was the goddess who desired her," Elia says, sticking her chin out stubbornly. "Not I. It is known our Goddess fancies rare humans.” She glances at Arthur then back at Rhaegar. "Arianne has missed Viserys greatly. May we stay here a while longer so that they may spend time together?" 

"My doors are always opened to you all," Rhaegar says. 

"Thank you," Elia says. 

Then she walks away. 

Arthur watches her depart. No amount of denial will ever hide what everyone knows to be true. Rhaegar wonders if they’ll ever be together again, outside of the rituals. 

When Elia’s slim form is out of sight, Arthur turns to Rhaegar. “Will you take flight tonight?” he asks. 

“No.” 

Having the sorcerers here will be tricky enough what with Lyanna being unaware of the nature of things. He has to also make sure he's careful. 

“The longer you go without doing so-” 

“A few nights isn’t going to send me spiraling, Arthur.” 

“Aye, you won’t spiral into madness over a couple of nights without taking flight but you will become irritable and...frustrated.” Labeling it as “frustration” is an understatement. He’ll become ravenous. “You remember what happened last time...” 

“I stopped myself,” Rhaegar says defensively. “Others in my position gave in to the urge, they were weak to their flesh, but I overcame it. I will do so again.” His eyes flash red momentarily, and his voice deepens. “Is that all?” 

A weaker man would’ve flinched and made themselves scarce. Of course, Arthur is no weak man. 

“Being around her won’t make it easier on you, either,” the man says. “You’re taunting the beast. We know it doesn’t like to be taunted.” 

“Our dear friends in Highgarden are expecting you today, Ser Arthur.” Rhaegar tires of the conversation. A subject change is in order. “Do not keep them waiting." 

Like the obedient knight, he is Arthur bows and takes his leave. But not without muttering, “stubborn fool” under his breath. 

Only Arthur can get away with something like that. If he were his father, he would’ve burned the man alive by now. His face darkens, sadness overtaking him. He hates thinking of his father. It always puts him in a somber mood. 

* * *

“Lady Lyanna! Lady Lyanna!” Daenerys shouts, dashing across the garden, her silver ringlets bouncing. “Look!” She holds up a black, glassy rock. “I found big brother’s gift! I lost it yesterday when the…” Stopping suddenly, she glances over her shoulder to where Viserys and Arianne are. Looking back at Lyanna she smiles brightly, holding the rock higher. “Isn’t it pretty?” 

Lyanna sets her book aside and takes the rock. “It’s a very lovely rock, Lady Daenerys.” 

“It’s dragon glass,” Daenerys says. 

The rock slips from Lyanna’s hand. “Pardon me?” she asks. 

A sharp cry rings in the air followed by a mischievous laugh. Clutching her arm, Arianne stomps her foot at Viserys and shouts something in a language Lyanna is unfamiliar with. Then Arianne starts chasing Viserys down the rows of rose bushes, around the gazebo and back again. Scooping up the rock, Daenerys clutches it in her tiny fist and runs after the older children. Their high-pitched laughter is blotted out by the thudding of Lyanna’s heart. 

Dragon glass, was it? Is that what the child said? Perhaps it’s nothing more than a name. There are plenty of things that have frightful names that aren’t frightful one bit. She's safe here, she tells herself. 

It’s a very fitting name.

The rock was black, blacker than night, allowing no light to pass through it. Lyanna imagines the color represents a dragon’s soul. Only a vile, unforgiving creature would have a soul darker than the darkest of abysses. 

The sudden hatred she feels startles her. Lyanna has never hated anything. Not this intensely, at least. In truth, she isn’t even sure if she hates the dragon. It’s her fear that she hates. She hates how weak and pitiful the dragon makes her. It cannot harm her here. Lord Rhaegar wouldn't give her up the way her family did, would he? 

“Careful, Ari!” Viserys’s scream tears Lyanna out of her thoughts. 

His warning is fruitless as Arianne is already tumbling to the ground, her slippers flying off. One of the roots from the weeping tree caught her foot. Lyanna rushes over as quickly as the bloody gown she’s wearing will allow. 

Viserys tries to help Arianne up but she shoves him away angrily. 

“Fine,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “If you’re going to be a baby about it, I don’t care!” 

“You never care!” 

“There, there,” Lyanna says, kneeling down so that she may have a better look at the girl’s knee. It’s lightly scraped with no bleeding. “May I?” she asks. 

Arianne stares back at her with watery, unblinking brown eyes. Her eyes are that of someone who’s been alive for decades, centuries even. Silently, she raises her leg for Lyanna to take. Because her dress is hiked up a bit from the fall, Lyanna can see a strange, pale marking on the girl’s inner thigh. 

It appears to be a mark of birth shaped like a star. 

“Is she going to be okay?” Daenerys asks in a small voice. “Viserys is always mean to Ari.” 

“I am not!” Viserys huffs. 

Lyanna examines Arianne’s leg further, finding nothing of concern. “Lady Arianne is fine.” She smiles at the girl. “Isn’t that right?” 

A smile breaks out across Arianne’s pudgy face. Nodding, she quickly gets up. “A princess can’t be defeated by something as insignificant as that,” she declares boldly. 

Viserys snorts. 

“Are you mocking Princess Arianne?” Lyanna asks in a playful voice. Lyanna kicks off her shoes. “That is treason!” She chases after Viserys with the little girls following behind her, cheering her on. 

The last time Lyanna ran around barefoot like this was when she was a girl, no older than Daenerys. Her eldest brother, Brandon, used to chase them around the yard, pretending to be a direwolf. Whenever he caught one of them he’d act like he was gobbling them up. After her mother passed away, Brandon stopped chasing them around the yard. He no longer found joy in it. Now the only thing that brings her brother joy is the taverns and brothels. 

Viserys is an agile, quick-footed thing. She can tell that he’s enjoying the chase. He likes that someone can actually keep up with him. Soon he starts to taunt her. All in good nature, of course. 

“Are people from Winter’s Tale always slow like this?” Viserys asks. 

“Winterfell,” Lyanna corrects hotly. If it weren’t for this damn girdle she would’ve caught him by now. 

Viserys laughs while Arianne and Daenerys continue to cheer for her. 

Because she can’t let the little ones down—and because she doesn’t like to lose— Lyanna lifts the skirts of her dress and stretches her legs to their limits. People used to call her a she-wolf because of how fast she ran. By the looks of it, she hasn’t lost the wolf inside of her. 

Seeing the gnarled root that caught Arianne’s foot, she quickly jumps over it. The jump allows her to close the distance between her and Viserys. She catches the boy by his vest. He looks at her with wide violet eyes as if he were genuinely surprised that she would catch him. The girls share a similar expression as Viserys. 

“She caught Viserys,” Arianne mumbles. 

Daenerys beams at her. “Lady Lyanna won!” 

The girls clap their hands excitedly. Surprisingly, Viserys doesn’t appear to be upset. She assumed that, like her, he would be cross if he lost. Instead, he looks at her with concern. 

“You don’t look too well, my lady.” 

And she doesn’t feel well at all. 

Lyanna touches her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand. “I’m fine,” she says faintly. “Excuse me. I will return shortly.” She holds her stomach and hurriedly heads to her chamber. 

Why in seven hells would any woman want to wear anything that squeezes their waist like this? Lyanna curses whoever created such a worrisome thing. Not only is she sweating, but her breaths are ragged, and her head feels light. Naturally, she assumes its the girdle's fault that she's this winded after what she considers to be a light run. 

Reaching her chamber, she barely has the door closed behind her and she’s already undressing. Getting out of her gown is simple enough, but she has to face her back to the looking glass and watch herself over her shoulder as she tries to untie the complicated strings of the girdle. 

Lyanna is half-way done when she sees it; a big red snake slithering across the floor toward the door. It isn’t the first snake she’s seen. No, not at all. But none of the harmless garden and river snakes are anything compared to this snake. 

She screams.

* * *

Rhaegar is at the castle’s main gate watching Arthur disappear through the barrier when he hears Lyanna’s scream. Without a second thought, he blinks himself to her. 

The proper term is ‘teleportation’ but he’s able to do so, within his realm, in the time it takes for him to blink. Hence the name he prefers to use. He’s extra careful to appear outside her door rather than inside her chamber. He doubts even he could explain his sudden and rude appearance. 

Knocking once, he doesn’t wait for her to beckon him in, assuming she’s in a dire situation. He uses that knock as a fair warning. When he enters, the first thing he notices is the red viper that’s trying to quickly slither out of the door. Nostrils flaring, Rhaegar picks the snake up by the neck with a tight grip. 

Then he sees Lyanna. And he almost drops the snake. 

Lyanna is down to her undergarments, and her girdle is partially undone, allowing more of her cleavage to be seen. Her hair is no longer confined in a braid, either. It’s framing her face wildly. In her hand, she’s holding a golden fire poker as though it were a sword. 

And it’s that stance that captures Rhaegar’s attention most of all. She looks experienced. 

Feeling the snake squirm in his grasp, Rhaegar eases his grip. He doesn’t want to kill his friend. 

Yet. 

At the sight of Rhaegar, Lyanna sighs in relief. She lowers the fire poker. “My lord,” she says, winded, face flushed and chest heaving. “Do you often come across snakes like that in the Crownlands?” 

“Rarely,” he says. Remembering himself, he turns his head. “My lady…” 

The little gasp Lyanna makes tells him that she doesn’t need further explanation from him. She mutters several apologies as she moves across the room to find something to cover herself with. Rhaegar sees her out of his peripheral, but he forces himself not to look. 

“It’s okay now,” Lyanna says. 

Rhaegar faces her again. She’s wearing a silk robe now. “My apologies for barging in. I heard your scream from down the hall.” The lie falls easily from his tongue. “I will get rid of it immediately.” 

“Please, don’t kill it," Lyanna says. "It only gave me a fright, that’s all." 

That coming from the woman who looked as if she was prepared to cut the snake up into a hundred pieces only moments ago. Her duality continues to interest him. 

“I will simply set it free. You have my word.” 

. . . 

Rhaegar doesn’t set the snake free. He doesn’t kill it either. He takes it to his chamber and sets it down on the floor, and he waits. Despite how many times he’s watched the transformation, it’s still a fascinating sight to see the snake expand and it’s skin to change. Seconds ago, it was a red viper with black spots and a thorny head. Now it’s a naked, smirking Oberyn lounging on the floor, his head propped up on his hand. 

“This human of yours is very intriguing, very ripe,” Oberyn says shamelessly. "Her blood smells so sweet and her body..." 

“So, you were peeking at her?” Rhaegar’s claws sharpen. 

“Do I ever peek? I only go where I am wanted, you know that. I only went to the wrong room. You have my word.” 

Walking over to his wardrobe, Rhaegar takes out a pair of trousers. “I warned you not to be careless." He walks over to Oberyn who is now standing and tosses the trousers at him. 

“She doesn’t suspect you, however,” Oberyn muses as he dresses. “What do you think she will do when she discovers what you and your family are?” 

“Well, she won’t be delighted, that’s for certain.” But he doesn’t like to think about that. For once, a human outside of Arthur doesn’t cower in his presence because of what he is. “What is it about Lyanna that entices the Goddess Nymeria so?” 

“I was trying to see for myself. I assume it's the magic she possesses and her innocence."

Rhaegar narrows his eyes. “Wrong room, you said? But of course, you were spying for your Goddess.” He bares his fangs at the man. “Tell Nymeria that this is one human she cannot claim!” 

Unmoved by the blatant threat, Oberyn lays down on Rhaegar’s bed, making himself comfortable. “Goddess, I can smell the tension in your sheets. Tell me, beautiful Rhaegar, when was the last time you had a good fuck?” 

The question invokes memories of his last time. It wasn’t a conquest he made willingly. His father wanted to be certain that his seed would bear fruit. Instead of allowing things to occur naturally in their own time, his father had a woman brought to the castle. She was eager to do as she was bid as it was an honor to be summoned by the king. And during that time, Rhaegar was desired by every woman and even some men in their kingdom. 

Like the diligent, obedient son, he did as he was told. His father was delighted to know that his firstborn was healthy and virile, and for a short time so was Rhaegar; that was during a time when having his father be proud of him meant something to him. That was until the woman announced that she was with child. His father, Aerys, told her that his son had no interest in birthing bastards, and before Rhaegar can offer an objection the woman was executed. 

“That long ago?” Oberyn asks, smirking. “How long do you think you can go before you sink your teeth into her?” 

“Get out of my bed. I would like to sleep tonight without your scent disturbing me.” 

“Always so prickly.” He rolls off the bed effortlessly, landing on his feet quietly. “Relieving some of that tension will do you well.” 

How many times will his guests get under his skin in one day? First Elia with her bigotry then Oberyn with his bawdiness. Even Lyanna is guilty of unsettling him, though, in a wholly good way. She should never keep her hair contained and he thinks swordplay would suit her better than needlework. 

Rhaegar wants to put a sword in her hand to see what she’d do...

“Care to spar?” he asks Oberyn. He needs to get a handle on himself. 

“Have I ever turned down a challenge?” Oberyn asks. 

* * *

The children were no longer in the gardens when Lyanna returned so she headed back to her chambers in hopes that she would be able to lie down for a little while. On her way there, she crossed paths with Elia and Ellaria who extended an invitation to join them in the hot springs. 

While Lyanna would have loved to rest after the morning she had, her father raised her to think it rude to turn down friendly invitations. She assumed there would be something for her to change into here but she understands now it was a silly thought. 

Elia and Ellaria undress without shame of their bodies or any hints of bashfulness. If anything they appear proud. Their bony shoulders are squared and their elegant heads are held high as they slip out of their gowns. Ellaria’s hips are wide, her waist small like a woman who has never birthed a child. But apparently she does have a daughter. Her breasts are the only thing that speaks to that truth. 

Even still, they don’t look like the breasts of the mothers Lyanna has seen. 

As for Elia, she’s slender with gentle curves and sharp hips. She reminds Lyanna of the fair maidens the bards spend their time pining over. Lyanna catches herself staring at their breasts for far too long. She turns her back to them and fiddles with the front strings of her dress. Both of the women sigh loudly when they’re in the water. They make it sound as if they’re doing bed sport. The thought makes Lyanna blush harder.

As a distraction, she sweeps her eyes around the room they're in. Well, it's not a room technically. The walls are slate, jagged rocks but the floors are marble the same as the columns that circle the spring. 

“Do you require assistance, my lady?” Ellaria asks from the sound of the voice. 

“No, I am fine. Thank you." 

Lyanna gets her dress undone and she slips out of it quickly. Her hair falls down her back, but she wishes it was long enough to cover her backside the way Elia’s hair covers hers. No point in her hoping for things she doesn’t have, however. After laying her dress on a stone bench, she covers her privates and walks over to the spring. 

Elia and Ellaria are smiling at her. She had a feeling that they would be. 

“We have the same parts as you,” Ellaria laughs. “But if you don’t want us to look we won’t.” She closes her eyes. 

And Elia does the same. 

Lyanna is grateful to them because there was no way she was going to be able to get in the water with both hands occupied. She wastes no time getting in and squatting down so that only her head is visible. The women laugh at her when they open their eyes. 

“Have you never bathed with anyone before?” Elia asks, laying her head back and sighing. The action causes her breast to rise from the water but she clearly doesn’t mind. 

“With my mother as a girl. Sometimes with the girls in my village.” But they were modest like her, and to be caught staring would stir up the sorts of rumors she’d prefer to avoid. “The water is very hot,” she says lamely. 

Laughing, Ellaria stands and wades toward her. “Hot springs are typically hot,” she teases. 

As the woman approaches, Lyanna tenses and lowers herself further into the water to the tip of her nose. That makes both women laugh harder. She knows she seems ridiculous right now but if they keep laughing at her she’s going to have words with them. She doesn't like being made fun of the same way she doesn't like to see others being picked up. But there's something about their laughter that doesn't align with ridicule. 

They seem to be genuinely humored by her actions. 

“There is no need for that, Lady Lyanna,” Ellaria says. She stands in front of her, the billowing steam shrouded her face. “We find your behavior endearing, I assure you.” 

Lyanna’s eyes widen. Did Ellaria read her mind? Impossible. 

Before she can ponder on the oddity, her mind blanks when the woman moves closer and cups her face. This close up, she can see the gold specks in Ellaria’s green eyes. The specks are moving or at least they appear to be. Losing herself in the dancing gold, she doesn’t flinch away when Ellaria gently pulls her out of the water so that she's sitting up straighter with confidence rather than cowering in the water. 

A calmness falls over Lyanna the longer she gazes into Ellaria's eyes. 

“There we go,” Ellaria whispers, petting Lyanna’s face tenderly. “Look at these grey eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips you have. A northern beauty indeed. Do not hide your beauty, Lady Lyanna. It is something you should wear with pride.” 

“I’m beautiful?” Lyanna hears herself ask. She doesn’t understand why she would ask such a thing. She’s never cared before. “Truly?” 

“Do you hear that Elia? She doesn’t realize that she is beautiful.” Ellaria sounds truly sad. “I blame men.” 

Elia laughs from across the spring. “You blame everything on men. Only Oberyn is your exception.” 

“Oberyn isn’t a man. He’s a god...” 

Lyanna remains relaxed even when Ellaria’s touch is gone and the woman moves away from her. She doesn’t sink low in the water again, either. Whatever insecurity or shame she previously felt feels like a distant memory. Did Ellaria place a spell on her or is that just the woman's natural charm? 

“...out of all the men and women, Oberyn is the only one I truly crave,” Ellaria is saying in a sultry voice. She touches her neck and smiles as though she were having a fond memory. “I pray day and night that my love and I can live forever so that we may fuck forever.” 

Elia makes a face. “People usually pray for their health, the health of their family. Of course, someone like you would pray for something like that.” 

“If you were ever fucked by Oberyn, you’d know why I say this.” 

“But...Oberyn and Ellaria are brother and sister, are they not?” Lyanna asks, visibly disturbed. 

The women look at her as if she’s the one who’s spouting nonsense. She expects for them to laugh at her again since they’ve done it so often, but they do no such thing. They simply stare at her, expressionless. 

“Fret not, my lady,” Elia says. “I could never be intimate with my brother. Tell me, is that sort of thing forbidden in your village?” 

“I imagine it’d be forbidden anywhere.” Only cousins are allowed to wed but that's the standard. 

“I see.” 

They leave it at that.

For a time, they don’t talk at all. It’s an amiable silence, however. One she enjoys greatly. 

As a girl, Lyanna wished to see the Kingdom of Dorne one day, to set her gaze on the vast desert, the Shadow City, and the docks where Queen Nymeria burned her ships to prevent anyone from cowardly fleeing. Lyanna figures she could just ask the women what the kingdom is like. So, she does. 

“The sun is merciless in Dorne,” Elia says, massaging her shoulders and neck. “It is as if the sun hangs directly over the entire kingdom. We have no winters but the nights are chilly. People visit Dorne for the intrigue they’re too afraid to seek in the Free Cities. Dorne is safer, I suppose.” 

“The Free Cities are a real place?” Lyanna asks, embarrassed that she even had to ask at all. She's only heard stories about them from passing merchants but her father always told her that merchants make up places to sell more of their goods to desperate women. The Free cities are also not on any of the maps she's seen. 

“We were just in Essos.” Before Lyanna can inquire about their time there, Elia asks, “Is this your first time being so far away from home?” 

“It is.” 

“I imagine it must be difficult being brought up so...sheltered.” 

Lyanna’s eyebrows pinch together. “Sheltered?” she repeats tersely. 

Elia smiles but her eyes are sharp. “I meant no offense, my lady. It’s just that you seem…” She shrugs her fine shoulders. “Do not mind me. I shouldn’t speak on things I don’t know about.” 

“No, you shouldn’t." 

Perhaps she’s only imagining it, but it seems as if Elia is trying to provoke her. She felt the same way when they broke their fast today. Several times throughout the conversation, Elia made comments about “outsiders” and “the ignorant” that honestly rubbed her the wrong way. She considers asking the woman if she has something she would like to say because she tends to be a person who likes to have everything out on the table. 

“Disregard, Elia,” Ellaria says, touching Lyanna’s shoulder. “She can be a cunt sometimes but she means well.” 

Lyanna flushes at the word and covers her mouth to hold her laughter in. She fails. Ellaria laughs with her and Elia calls them both a colorful name then she’s laughing along with them. Just like that, the thickness that was in the air dissipates. 

Perhaps Lyanna only imagined it from the start. No, there's definitely something up with Elia. Does the woman dislike her? They don't know a thing about the other so she isn't sure why she would. 

“We have to get out of here,” Ellaria says after some time has passed. “This water is arousing me. I need to find Oberyn.” 

“It is doing the same to me but sadly I will have to take care of it myself," Elia says. 

“Well, Arthur is here...” 

Elia cuts her eyes at Ellaria. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?” She glances at Lyanna who is staring between the woman like a dumbstruck goose. “Which is it? Me pleasuring myself or the mention of Arthur?” 

Both, honestly.

However, it’s the former more than the latter. Lyanna figured there was something going on between Elia and Arthur considering they kept making eyes across the table this morning. Lyanna should just keep her mouth shut and continue on as the naive lamb. Yes, that’s what she should do. Doesn’t mean it’s what she’s going to do. She’s genuinely curious, after all. She never knows when to keep quiet either. 

“How would you do that?” Lyanna asks. “How would you take care of it yourself?” 

“You’ve never pleasured yourself?” Elia asks. 

Lyanna shakes her head. “I was told by my septa that women can only...achieve pleasure with a man, that without them we are incapable of doing that…” 

“Oh goddess,” Ellaria mutters, looking devastated. “Whoever told you that should be ashamed of themselves. You don’t need a man for that. I’m sure they probably told you that you’re to be obedient and do as your husband and father command. Yes?" 

It is true. That is what she was taught, but she’s never cared for that. Her father told her to never pick up a sword and she disobeyed, and whoever he gives her hand in marriage to, she’s certain she’ll disobey them too. Well, her father gave her up, didn't he? Looks as if Lyanna can govern herself. 

That makes her feel a little better about this entire situation. Yes, now that she is out of her village she can live her life as she pleases. 

“Is there anyone you desire?” Elia asks. She quickly adds, “You don’t have to tell us. Just think of them whenever you do it. It’ll make it more enjoyable.” 

Lyanna laughs nervously. “Do what exactly..." 

"Do you want a lesson?" Ellaria asks. "I would be more than happy to give you one, my lady." 

A lesson. What would that consist of? The fact that she considers it scares her. Could she do something like that with another woman? Lyanna has never considered it. Or perhaps she has but was too ashamed to dwell on the thoughts. The water is very hot and it does do things to her...

Lyanna shakes her head. "No, that won't be necessary. Thank you." 

Ellaria smiles. "If you ever change your mind...we will be guests here for some time..." 

"I will keep that in mind." 

Eventually, they leave the lower level of the castle, skin red and hair still damp, their gowns sticking to their skin. In comparison to where they just were the corridors are cool and welcome. To get to their chambers, they have to pass through a smaller courtyard lined by stone columns. 

In the distance, Lyanna can hear the familiar sounds of steel clashing. They seek out the cause of the commotion and find Rhaegar and Oberyn, shirtless and sweating, emerged in a heated duel. 

Oberyn fights with a long spear, Rhaegar a longsword with a ruby pommel and steel that’s so dark it looks black. Immediately, she recognizes them both as formidable. Their movements are fast yet contained. It looks as if they’re engaged in a waltz rather than a spar with swords. She has trouble following them for the most part, and she isn’t sure who’s dominating who. 

Then again, her attention is solely on Rhaegar so it’s difficult for her to draw a comparison between the two. She knew that he was a fighter. A person doesn’t have his kind of build if they’re sitting on their arse while others fight for them. She knew he was a fighter, yes, but she didn’t think he’d be this brilliant. 

“Oberyn’s overconfidence will be his downfall one day,” Elia whispers. 

As soon as she says that, Oberyn gets too close to Rhaegar and raises his spear high for a final blow. He leaves himself wide open in the process, and his opponent makes him regret it. If this were a real fight, Rhaegar probably would’ve sliced the man from ballsack to scalp. As brutal as that imagery is, Lyanna thinks it's a fine kill. 

Rhaegar simply disarms Oberyn. 

“Yield,” Rhaegar says smugly. 

The way the sunlight catches his hair and eyes makes Lyanna’s heart act strangely and her skin tingle. She wants to fight him, she decides. She wants to fight Rhaegar. Getting him to actually fight her will be hard, however. It took her weeks to convince the butcher’s boy to spar with her. Would Rhaegar even take her seriously if she asked? Men seldom take her seriously when she mentions anything deemed unladylike. 

There was one suitor who’d traveled a great distance to meet with her. Robert Baratheon, he was called. He was handsome and robust like the heroes in the tales. the few times they got to walk around together, he was kind and listened to her. Or so she thought. Lyanna believed she could confide in him about her love for riding and swords. Initially, he entertained her and made her think he supported her. 

Then she overheard him making japes about her to his squire about how he quite enjoyed, “breaking wild mares” and how Lyanna would “change her tune once he broke her in.” 

Lyanna shuts the memory out of her mind yet the feelings linger. No, she won’t mention sparring to Rhaegar. She knows better now. 

Ellaria goes over to Oberyn, peppering his face with kisses and praises him as though he were the victor. Feeling heat on her face, Lyanna glances over to see Rhaegar watching her. When their eyes meet he smiles at her, his eyes hopeful. But the memory of Robert’s harsh words rests bitterly in her heart. Lyanna bows her head in acknowledgment then she thanks Elia for her invite to the springs. She leaves for her chambers without another glance at Rhaegar. 

She feels his eyes on her back even when she’s far out of sight.

* * *

“...and the silver princess and her sworn knight rode off into the majestic sunset, never to be seen again,” Rhaegar reads quietly, petting the top of Daenerys’s head gently. “The end.” He closes the book. 

“Again,” Daenerys says, rubbing her tired eyes with her fists. She pops her head up and stares up at him. “Read it again, please.” 

Every single night, it’s the same story and when he’s finished, she wants to hear it again. Rhaegar isn’t sure why Dany enjoys this particular story so much out of the dozens in this book. He supposes it’s natural for children to be awed by stories of brave men who save fair women. 

Well, most children. Viserys preferred stories about dark sorcerers and wicked curses when he was her age. Now the boy secretly reads books like these, though, he will fiercely deny it. Perhaps when Dany is older she will set aside these tales of heroism and true love, and favor the darker truth. Rhaegar would prefer it if she didn’t. Their family has suffered under strife and misery for decades. He wants his sister to never know what that is like. Even if it’s only a story. 

“Not tonight, Dany. You must sleep.” Rhaegar knows a protest is coming so he acts quickly. “I have something for you.” 

That does the trick. She holds in her protests and eyes him with curious excitement. 

Rhaegar takes out the dragon glass rock Dany gave to him just earlier that day. To the unseeing eye, they’re nothing more than rocks. In truth, the glass has magical properties. He holds the rock in his fist and whispers an incantation. Moments later, he opens his hand and presents his sister with a silver necklace with a dragon glass pendant.

“I infused it with my love,” he says as she clasps it around her neck. “No matter how far we are from one another, I will always be with you, Dany.” 

Dany touches the pendant delicately. “It’s so pretty.” She turns it over in her hand, examining closely. Then she declares, “I will never take it off!” 

He chuckles. “That would make me very happy.” Because it contains a protection spell. The incident with the goblins, although contained, reminded him of how their safety is never guaranteed. 

“Does Viserys have one?” she asks after she’s tucked in. “Viserys needs one too.” As always, Dany never just thinks about herself. 

“I’ve already given Viserys his. Do not worry.” He kisses her temple. 

“Is Miss Lyanna okay? She wasn’t at dinner?” 

Apparently the lady’s absence was greatly missed. Elia and Ellaria inquired about her, as well. Even though Rhaegar was certain that they were the reason behind her decision to dine by herself. When Gaia told him of Lyanna’s request, he was very disappointed but he didn’t press the matter. 

“Lady Lyanna is fine.” He doesn’t want his sister to worry. “Sleep well, Dany.” 

After leaving her room, he crosses the hall to Viserys’s room. Unsurprisingly, Arianne is in there. Her and Viserys are fast asleep on the floor with books and maps scattered around them. They both have a fascination with reading about exploring. He puts them both in the bed. If he were to take Arianne to her room, she’d simply find her way back to Viserys so he doesn’t bother. 

Their fates are bound to one another, though, it’s uncertain where their paths will take them. Especially considering there is a very high chance that Arianne is Queen Nymeria’s chosen vessel. She bears the mark, after all. That is why she travels with her aunt and uncle as it is unsafe for her in Dorne. Sometimes people do unspeakable things in the name of devotion. That is the only thought Rhaegar will give on that matter. 

He’s battling with himself on rather he should go to Lyanna or just retire for the night when he’s drawn to the gardens. Under the pale moonlight and the sea of stars, the flowers seem to glow. But their brilliance is nothing in comparison to Lyanna. She looks almost whimsical and ethereal sitting under the weeping tree reading a book. He almost doesn’t want to disturb her. At the same time, he’s drawn to her by an unseen force that he’s powerless to. His feet carry him to her. 

Looking up from her book, Lyanna is startled to see him. “My lord.” She closes the book quickly and moves to stand. 

“No, please. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

Lyanna remains seated. “I’m having a terrible time at staying focused anyway," she says, not meeting his gaze. "Do you visit the gardens at night often?” 

Honestly, he never really comes here. Every flower holds a memory of his mother, and he can’t inhale their fragrant scent without thinking of her. For Lyanna, he endures it. He tells her that he was in need of fresh air. Perhaps one day he will be able to tell her only truths and not lies. 

Lyanna stares up at him with open eyes, exposing the curve of her smooth neck, her eyelashes fluttering. “Won’t you sit with me, my lord?” she asks. 

Wordlessly, Rhaegar sits beside her, their arms nearly touching. She feels the heat from his body all the same, as if he were pressed against her. He knows this because a visible shiver travels through her. Pitying her, he puts more space between them. 

The things he could make her feel and do just by simply being next to her is astounding.

If Rhaegar were that kind of person, which he most certainly is not, he could’ve claimed Lyanna already and it would’ve been something she wanted. But only in body, not heart, mind, and spirit. He doesn’t see any enjoyment in that. He doesn’t want what his parents had. No matter if his mother wanted his father in her heart, her body craved him because that's how their connection worked. And he’ll never have what they had because he would never treat Lyanna or anyone the way his father treated his mother. 

“You have such sad eyes,” Lyanna says, leaning closer. “Has anyone ever told you that?” 

“No, never.” How did he never notice the scatter of light freckles on her nose? He counts them. “Is that a bad thing?” She has seven freckles, each one a unique shape. 

“That depends, I suppose.” 

“On?” 

“Are you sad?” 

“Not at the moment. I’m in very pleasant company.” 

The corners of her mouth turn upward, and he thinks he’s going to be graced with one of her stunning smiles. Yet the smile never fully forms. Lyanna’s gaze lowers to his mouth then back to his eyes. It happens so quickly he might’ve missed if it weren’t for his heightened senses. 

“My lord,” she starts, and Rhaegar is prepared to give her anything she wants, “I must leave. I can't stay here..." 

Well, anything except that. 

The disappointment must show clearly on his face because Lyanna offers her apologies and tells him how she understands that he must see his guest off first and preparations must be made. She’s flustered and even a little afraid that she’s offended him after he’s been such a gracious host to her. Every time she speaks on the matter, the guilt weighs heavily on his heart. Some people think dragons don’t have hearts but that isn’t true at all. 

“There’s nothing to forgive, my lady. I will do all that I can to ensure you are returned home safely.” Rhaegar wonders if he’s the worst being there ever was. Considering the atrocities humans commit to one another on a daily, he thinks he’s at the bottom of the list. But he’s still on that list. “If the weather is kind, we can leave the day after tomorrow.” 

“You intend to take me?” she asks, pleasantly surprised. “I thought you would have Arthur and more of your men accompany me. Although, I never see any guards walking the grounds…” 

There are no other men to send. During the uprising, they either died or fled. Only Arthur is left. Of course, he doesn’t mention this to her. He doesn’t mention the absence of guards at all. 

“Since tomorrow will be your last day here with us, I would like to take you riding with me in the morning. That is if you care for that sort of thing.” 

Lyanna’s eyes light up the way Dany’s eyes light up whenever he allows her to take flight with him. Yes, she definitely cares for that sort of thing just as he suspected. Whenever she talks of the mundane tasks the women are assigned in her village she gives off an air of indifference. But when it came to Visenya and Daena, she was obviously interested. 

“I...I would love to go riding with you, my lord.” Lyanna clasps her trembling hands to still them. She’s brimming with excitement. “Are you sure it’s alright?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“You’re not worried I’ll slow you down?” 

“Slow me down?” Rhaegar wonders if anyone has ever said that to her. It’s such a strange thing to ask, after all. “No, I don’t believe you would. But if you prefer to take your time, I am a patient man, my lady.” 

Lyanna is giving him that look again, the same look she gave him when she asked him to sit with her, and he has a feeling she’s no longer thinking about riding horses. Her heartbeat quickens. He can hear it fluttering like raven's wings, can see the vein in her neck pulsing. If he were to lean over, just a fraction, he could probably smell her arousal. 

Last night, when she walked in on the ritual, the scent was intoxicating enough to entice the Goddess herself. Rhaegar had to carry Lyanna back to her bed, and it wasn’t without difficulty. It’s as Arthur says, the longer he goes without taking flight, the more unstable he'll become. He needs to take flight, he needs to be in his true form in order to maintain control. 

“I should retire,” Lyanna says, clearing her throat. She’s blushing furiously now. “I look forward to riding yo— riding with you in the morning!” She stands abruptly, clutching the book tightly in her hand, and hurries off. "Goodnight!" 

Rhaegar is left sitting there trying to figure out what exactly happened during the time he was momentarily lost in thought. He decides it’s the least of his concern right now. 

He goes to find Elia. 

Unsurprisingly, Arthur is pacing outside the woman’s door, muttering to himself. When he sees Rhaegar approaching, he tries to act as if he were merely admiring a painting on the wall. As if. 

“Please, Arthur. You are fooling no one,” Rhaegar says. He knocks on the door. “Elia, I know you’re in there laughing at my poor friend. Open up. I need to ask something of you.” 

Moments later, a smirking Elia opens the door. “Only Rhaegar may enter.” She looks to Arthur and says, “I will leave you to your pacing, ser.” 

Whatever retort Arthur might’ve had is muffled by the door that is closed in his face. Elia only did that because someone else is around. She probably intended to make Arthur suffer for a few more minutes before she invited him in. Neither of them is fooling anyone. 

Elia returns to her vanity and combs her long hair. She’s dressed in a thin, mustard gown with a long cut down the middle. “What do you need, Rhaegar?” she asks, looking at him through the mirror. “I know this visit isn’t for pleasure.” 

“I need a way to keep Lyanna here longer.” 

“You wish to make her your prisoner? A woman like that, she will despise you. A woman like that can not be tamed.” 

“I know but you also know why I must keep her here. She is the key to everything." 

Elia sets her comb down and turns to face him. “Do you truly believe she’s the one? What if you misinterpreted the text? Prophecies are tricky things.” 

“I know it’s her Elia," he says. “You’ve spent time with her yourself. Tell me she isn’t a remarkable human, that her very blood isn’t captivating.” 

“Fine,” Elia says, getting up. She crosses the floor to where he’s standing. “I will need your essence.” 

Rhaegar pricks his thumb with his fang and offers it to Elia. She takes his bleeding thumb into her mouth. She only takes what she needs. 

“How will you do it?” Rhaegar asks. The small wound has already healed itself. “I don’t want anything that will cause her great suffering or pain.” 

Elia walks over to the basin by her bed. With a wave of her hand, the basin fills with water. She sits it in the center of the room, making sure the moonlight from the window is touching it. Then she spits his blood into the water. 

“You will see,” she says, her eyes glowing like molten gold. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> bringing this back cause I missed it. It'll be a lot shorter than intended but will be wrapped up nicely (I hope) there will be slight differences in the other chapters that were once posted on here because the ending has changed. Overall it's the same old story. The pairings tagged are the pairings that will be in this fic. Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I will not be answering questions about other fics in the comments.


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